


The Kingdom

by roguendeavor



Series: The Tales of Truth [2]
Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Stick of Truth (South Park), F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Kenny is canonly a girl, Language, Light Angst, Rated For Violence, South Park: The Stick of Truth, War, character relations are super weird
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:06:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 26,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28207293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roguendeavor/pseuds/roguendeavor
Summary: Decades of struggling had pushed the Kingdom past a breaking point. While its people starved and perished, the elves have lived in prosperity, without giving the humans a second glance. Finally, the king dealt Erendriel a mighty blow and initiated a war between humans and elves. As the king hacks away at Erendriel's defenses, a princess finds herself in the company of a thief.
Relationships: Christophe "The Mole" DeLorne/Damien Thorn, Eric Cartman/Wendy Testaburger, Kenny McCormick/Craig Tucker, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: The Tales of Truth [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2066253
Comments: 22
Kudos: 15





	1. Act I

**Author's Note:**

> Unlike Erendriel, I never finished the first draft of this fanfic. So, it's going to get a bit more attention at first. I might have to double post because I want to catch up to Erendriel since they take place simultaneously. It might be shorter than Erendriel, so the upload schedule for this fic will be kinda messy. Also, same with Erendriel, I changed the name from the Kingdom of Kupa Keep to just the Kingdom, for obvious reasons.  
> Thank you for reading. Hope you enjoy. Take care uwu

_Erendriel Chapter 1_

* * *

A sky drained of color shrouded the land beneath it: a cold gust blew, echoing in an eerie howl. Many hills and valleys rolled through the land, mere corpses compared to their former glory. Taupe and tarnished gold covered the land resided by humans: animals were hunted relentlessly and crops hardly grew within the hardening soil. Barren and dry, there were struggles to sustain life.

Cutting through the hills was a dirt road, twisting and winding with the landscape. At intervals, the road divided and extended in different directions. Ultimately, it led to one destination: the gates of a city walled with soot.

Ash and charcoal were the primary colors of the wall, as well as the city itself. Dark bricks that resembled their overcast sky supported the foundations of buildings and paved their streets.

The road continued, passing the only opening in the wall, and through the city. There were three primary divisions within the city: the outer and center sections, and the hilled estates.

At the top of the hill, a dark and towering castle loomed over everything in the Capital. Its bricks were dusted with the richest of charcoal, devastating to the eyes. The many towers within reached up to pierce the sky, though its foundation reached far below the surface of the hill.

Deep below the castle, in a place where no sunlight could reach, a single torch illuminated one of the occupied cells.

A tall, bulky man wore a large burgundy robe made of the finest of cloths, and a dramatic gold crown nuzzled his head.

He thrust his ringed fist in the face of a chained prisoner.

“Answer me.”

The prisoner’s blond hair was matted with blood, eyes swollen shut.

Two guards stood at the cell door, their backs turned.

“I—I…” the prisoner wheezed, lungs cramping.

The king took the prisoner’s chin in his hands, pulling it up so they were facing each other.

“What’s a filthy vermin like you doing in my castle?” He pressed against his jawline, opening his mouth in an uncomfortable way.

The prisoner whimpered.

Harshly did he push the prisoner away, his back crashing against a brick wall.

He sighed and began to pace the small cell. “I come all the way down here to greet and welcome you—me, your grand king Cartman—and you don’t answer me.” He clicked his tongue several times. “That just won’t do.”

Without warning, he kicked the prisoner in the jaw, sending him into the air. He dropped with a loud thud, clouds of dust lifting around him.

“You had your chance,” he spoke down to an unconscious figure, “Either way, you would have succumbed to torture, but one would have passed quickly. Now, you are going to rot in a pile of your own shit and blood. As if I didn’t have enough to deal with already.”

Cartman turned to the door. “Open up.”

One of the guards stuck out his arm and opened the door, his feet grounded.

A step out of the cell, Cartman held out his hand. The other guard handed him a cloth to wipe his fists and rings.

“Tell Damien to keep him alive, but don’t make it pleasant. I will not tolerate anyone breaking into my castle.” He tossed the cloth to the ground, then walked up a dimly lit staircase.

At the top of the staircase, a door opened to the first floor of the castle.

Waiting outside a man with shaggy brown hair and tanned skin bowed. “Your majesty,” his voice was coaxed in a thick accent.

Cartman pressed his lips together. “Christophe.” In the bright light, his brown hair was combed with greys and whites.

“Did you manage to resolve your _problem_?”

He turned to his right and stormed down the hall. “No, I didn’t. This little nuisance is nothing compared to this whole situation.”

“You speak of the war?”

“What else could I be talking about?”

A servant stopped near the two, holding a tray with wine-filled glasses. She kept her eyes cast downwards, trembling as she lowered into a bow.

Cartman took one of the glasses without paying her any mind, and Christophe gave her a reassuring nod.

“Well, things in the Capital have not quite—”

“I’m not the one responsible for feeding everyone, for providing them housing and clothes. The struggles of one are nothing to the struggles of all. My responsibility is with the Kingdom itself: its riches and power. Those horrible elves think they can take from us, and that just won’t do. They laugh at us, with their crows made of flowers and magic trees. They think they’re better because their kingdom is green and they live forever.”

Christophe bit his tongue. He would not dare to correct Cartman in any of his claims, for he knew the consequences of that.

They walked up several flights of stairs, making their way to the top floor of the central castle. As they walked, the servants kept their eyes down and heads bowed.

The castle’s top floor held the throne room and king’s quarters, both having an excellent view of the Capital below. Though, all that was visible were fields of grey and brown, miniature people roaming aimlessly.

A firepit burned brightly at the center of the throne room, and heavy tapestries were hung along the walls, burgundy standing out against the coal interior. Heads of hunted game hung on intervals beside the tapestries, and a golden chandelier swayed slowly in the center. One end of the room had large open doors to a balcony, and the other a magnificent throne made of solid gold.

Empty except for the two, the throne room echoes with their steps and the crackling fire.

“Christophe,” Cartman began as he dropped onto his throne, “As my advisor, you’re supposed to help me with all of this. Instead, you tell me things that don’t matter. ‘People are suffering.’ I’m suffering, too. I have the weight of the entire kingdom on my shoulders. I’m doing what is best for everyone. They have to put their part into this, too.”

Christophe’s tongue dried up. He pressed it against his teeth. “Yes, of course, your majesty.”

“Good. Now, leave me for the time being.”

Christophe bowed and left the throne room, two guards shutting the doors behind him.

* * *

As she ran her hand along a railing, she sighed, startling the veil hiding her lower face. Life in the castle proved lonely, but it was her birthright to inherit it all.

When she walked through the halls, the servants stopped and bowed, offering her uneasy smiles and warry eyes.

She acted as if their actions were due to the uncertainty of the war, but deep down, she knew that was not the true reason for their anxieties. They were afraid of her father, a heavy terror weighing down on their hearts. She feigned innocence, feigned to notice his treatment of those serving in the castle. There was nothing she could do to alter his actions, and so she continued with her solitary days.

Her father was not the only thing they feared.

They feared her, feared that she would become like him, a cold and cruel monarch.

Already did she appear cold to them for neglecting to improve their treatment, but she knew that when she was crowned queen, things would change.

The only question she had was _when._ When would she become queen? When will the needless war end?

Neither seemed to be soon approaching, and so she feigned innocence and smiled with all the kindness of her heart.

Though her veil distorted the smile that none could see.


	2. Chapter 2

The outer section had a distinct smell, one of excrement and vomit mixed with blood and the occasional semen. Still, that smell was nothing compared to the permanent stench of death.

As he walked, he saw another corpse being hauled away in a wagon: a naked woman, her neck bruised and blood on her legs.

A common sight, and even more common fate to the women in her line of work.

He coughed and nearly stumbled to the ground. The dirt road beneath him—formally lined with grey bricks—was covered in holes. Looking up, he saw many of the missing bricks plastered into the walls of buildings.

Emaciated children walked through the streets, carrying empty sacks and broken dreams. Their torn clothing hung off their bodies.

He pulled his scarf up to his nose, earth-brown eyes scanning the scene, knowing their hardships.

People struggled all the time, starved, and suffered, all while those in power prospered. Death was a familiarity, a full stomach an anomaly, and stability a foreign concept. He grew up in such conditions, fending for himself, watching his back constantly, and it pained him to know that he was not the only one.

What had other children done to deserve such a life, many of which orphaned at birth or a young age?

As they suffered, the king ate plentiful, holding more than enough wealth to sustain the entire kingdom. Instead of distributing wealth, he derived the people of the Kingdom.

The same held true for his beloved nobles up on the hill.

He learned from a young age that he had to steal to survive, take whatever he could get his hands on. Over the years, he managed to gather enough riches to find a stable home and continued his profession.

Never did he dare give to those in the outskirts of the city.

They had to learn for themselves that life is never generous, and they had to pick themselves up and find their own strength.

He eyed his surroundings, made sure no one was watching him and dashed into an alley, made several turns into other alleys, and eventually stopped before three buildings: a brothel, an abandoned and collapsing building, and an inn that claimed to have the finest of rooms in the outskirts.

Another look around the streets and he walked into the building in the center. He had to duck and climb over fallen poles and boards, forcing himself to the back of the building. Broken tables and chairs littered the creaking floors, rats running and squealing with every noise.

Once out of the rubble, he stood before a large bar counter, one broken in half. He walked behind it, moving the top of one end, revealing a staircase. Swiftly did he lower himself into the opening and replaced the countertop.

There was no light at the staircase, nor the passage that followed it.

Beneath the surface of the Capital, underground networks nicked at its foundation. They extended and turned, going in numerous directions. Many wandered into the underground labyrinth, though only those familiar with it escaped.

He was one of those few. Since his youth, he walked the labyrinth daily and did not need a torch to illuminate his passage. He knew his destination and could find it easily.

Eventually did the soft touches of light enter his vision.

A grand hall was built directly underneath the center of the city, fire pits providing bright illumination in the darkness. Coincidentally, a blacksmith’s forge stood above them, and openings let the smoke out.

Rows of tables and chairs filled the hall, many talking and eating on them. Weapons lined the walls, a variety of every kind: blades, axes, maces, spears, as well as armor and shields. One end of the hall had a wooden board, where job descriptions and offerings were placed. On the other side, a large bar counter, hundreds of liquor bottles placed in racks against the wall. 

A man with black hair and kind brown eyes stood behind the counter, wiping a flask with a white cloth.

He walked up to him. “Any word yet?”

The man put the flask down and sighed, shaking his head. “None. I’m sorry, but you know what that means.”

“There’s no way Tweek would die on a job.”

“Here’s the thing: he _wasn’t_ on a job. He went rogue, yelling the usual nonsense, then left.”

“Why didn’t anyone stop him?”

“We _tried,_ Craig. We really tried, but you know he doesn’t listen.”

Craig clicked his tongue and looked away. His scarf covered most of his deeply tanned face, but the man knew he was scowling.

“Look, I’ll keep an ear and eye out. For now, keep doing your own thing. Maybe you’ll find something on a job.”

He exhaled harshly from his nose. “Yeah, all right. Thanks, Stoley.”

Craig turned away from the counter and walked across the hall. The jobs he found on the board were the usual: scaring away a suitor, protection during a trip, avenging a daughter that lost her virginity. None of the jobs called to Craig. They were either not serious enough or too serious. He kept looking and eventually found an appropriate one: breaking into a shop and stealing back a family heirloom.

Harshly did he rip the parchment off the board. Such a job would take time to prepare for. It could take him days to complete the task, but it would take his mind off his missing companion.

He muttered a silent promise to find Tweek as he left the guildhall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Craig is going to be a lot of fun to write. I love rogue-type characters. (Hint: my username)  
> Thanks for reading and take care uwu


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language warning: there's a word that I find somewhat offensive, but hear people say it all the time. It starts with a w

Fire crackled within a large fireplace, the circular table before it seated with nobles and the king.

“And then she had the _audacity_ to send me a letter. Really? If a whore can’t deal with the consequences of her job, why take it in the first place?” A brunet noble with a red coat groaned.

A woman with long black hair and hazel eyes peered at him. “Sir Donovan, might I ask you to refrain from saying such—”

“Oh, Wendy, you of all people should not ask me such things. You’re lucky to be here in the first place.” He smirked.

Wendy’s face flushed with both anger and embarrassment, yet she held her tongue and looked away.

“Clyde, shut up.” Cartman leaned forward in his chair. “She’s right. Wendy here is a genius, mind you. In fact, she should oversee your position. I don’t know how you’ve managed this long. But, of course, a woman can only do so much.” He looked to Wendy, eyes hungry.

It was Clyde’s turn to flush, his face nearly matching the color of his coat.

One of the three blond nobles giggled under his palm. He was the youngest at the table, with the lightest hair and bright blue eyes. 

“So,” one of the other blonds spoke. His hair was a medium shade, and the longest of the three, with dark eyes, and his accent differed from Christophe’s. “Might I ask about the war? Really, it’s quite tiresome worrying about our safety and riches.”

“Phillip, how harsh!” The third blond with the darkest hair and brown eyes frowned.

“Well, we are all thinking it, Bradley. I’m sure the king is as tired as we are, if not more so.”

Cartman groaned and scratched his jaw. “There’s not much to tell. The elves have a very strong defense. Their magic forest protects them from everything. We have to find a way to get through it. Even then, there’s no guarantee our troops will make it very far.”

“And the state of our troops?” Bradley pressed a hand to the table and leaned forward eagerly.

“They’re tired, very tired. Supplies are limited, and we don’t have many troops to begin with.” Cartman released a silent sigh. “There are few in the Kingdom that are willing to join the frontlines.”

“Well, what if we force them?” The youngest noble put in.

“'Force them?’ What do you mean, Leopold?”

“We can draft them, take all their names, and pick the ones that should go.”

Cartman pressed his lips together and hummed. “That could work, yes.”

“But are we _really_ going to collect _everyone’s_ names?” Clyde asked.

Wendy shot him a split-second glare. “Your majesty,” she cut in, “If I may, such a feat wouldn’t be as difficult as it seems. There are many quick and easy methods to collect data. For one, we could require everyone to sign their names when they collect their monthly provisions. Of course, not everyone can write, but that is a different matter at hand.”

The nobles looked at her, wide-eyed.

Cartman chuckled. “See? A genius, this one. I bet none of you would have thought of something like that, and it’s so _simple._ We’ll tell Christophe to do all the necessary preparations.” He grabbed his goblet and drank from it.

Wendy gripped at her skirt. She was glad he had not punished her for speaking. As long as she proved her worth, she would be welcomed back at their conferences, as well as in the castle.

“And what of the supplies?” Phillip licked his top lip.

“That one’s easy.” Clyde readjusted himself in his chair. “Tax the people and have them make more things. That, or we can take things from them.”

Everyone nodded in agreement, though Wendy was a bit hesitant

“With that, we’re done talking about this war business.” Cartman clapped his hands together and rubbed them. “Now, let’s get back to all of Clyde’s whores.”

Laughter erupted from the table, over-powering the cracks of the fireplace.

* * *

The gardens, her favorite place in the castle, and one of the few places left in the Kingdom that grew effortlessly. There was an incredible amount of color: green, red, pink, blue, orange, and purple. The colors of her surroundings were usually composed of greys and the occasional burgundy. Even the servants in the castle wore muted colors.

She made an effort to dress in the brightest colors she could find.

Walking through the artificial maze, she brushed her fingers atop a rose bush. Red roses were beautiful, yes, but these were her favorites: orange with tints of pink. She placed her fingers underneath one and pulled softly, plucking it from its home. Lifting it to her face, she twirled it smoothly.

“I thought I’d find you here.” An accented voice.

She turned, veil covering her wide smile. “Papa Christophe! What are you doing here? I thought father had a meeting.”

Christophe walked to her and held out his hand. She placed hers within it and they walked through the garden.

“You know I’m not welcomed there, only true nobles, and Wendy. I don’t know why I’m still here in the first place.”

“Don’t talk that way. I don’t know what I would do without you here, and Damien might lose it and hack at everyone in sight.”

He chuckled, a deep and gentle sound from his chest. “Regardless of the reason, I’m glad to be here. I wouldn’t survive without my rose and my thorn.” 

She giggled, the rose twirling.

Christophe eyed her veil. “Why not take that off?”

She looked to the rocky path beneath them. “We both know I can’t.”

“Not even for me, my little rose?”

She closed her eyes and shook her head, her grip on the rose and Christophe tightening slightly.

Royalty and nobles within the Kingdom had their own separate tradition from the common people. Maidens were to keep their face covered until marriage, typically at the age of sixteen.

The princess had passed that age many years ago.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

Christophe sighed. “No, don’t apologize to me, Kenny. I’m sorry you still wear it.”

Kenny looked at the rose twirling in her fingers. “Remind me how you and Papa Damien met.” She had the story permanently engraved into her memory.

He chuckled once more, nostalgia and joy on his face. “I had just arrived at the castle to visit my sister—your mother, the queen. It was raining, and my clothes and hair were soaked. As usual, I expected someone to greet me at the doors and help me with my belongings. No one was at the entrance. I called out for help, but nothing. Frustrated, I carried my belongings and went for my room, leaving puddles behind me.

“A man in black slipped on one of the puddles and began to scream at me. Me, a nobleman! Naturally, I yelled back, saying he wouldn’t have fallen if he had helped me upon my arrival. Eventually, our bickering attracted a servant woman, and she came to my aid.

“From there, the few times we saw each other, we would send glares and provoke some form of argument. I don’t know how, but ever since our first meeting, we always ran into each other. Somehow, one of our arguments ended with our lips pressed against each other, and that was that.”

“Truly romantic.”

Christophe laughed long and loud. “Not quite. I only wish that my little rose meets someone special and that it will be truly romantic.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We stan Kenny's gay dads. Christophe x Damien is one of my favorites, and I will put it into my fanfics wherever I can.  
> And just to be clear, everyone in this fic is older than Erendriel's Stan and Kyle. So Kenny is prob mid-twenties or so, same with Craig  
> Sorry for the short chapters. I think Act I will be the shortest, in terms of chapters and chapter length  
> Thanks for reading, and take care uwu


	4. Chapter 4

Craig had watched the shop for several days, spectating the routine of the shopkeepers, the customers, and the goods that came in and out. There was nothing that set this shop apart from the others: there were no rare jewels, no walls made of glass, and no worker with a ridiculous amount of charisma.

It was a regular shop, one that none would give a second thought to, yet became his priority and focus for days.

He found a small alleyway filled with barrels and crates where he made camp, which he rarely left during the shop’s hours of business. Every day, he noted the time the shopkeeper left, when the shop became completely alone, and what time it opened. He also noted the nearby shops and houses, keeping their individual routines in mind.

Now, with everything set and confirmed, he stepped out into the street.

The shop was made of wood that was beginning to decay at its base. Its windows were fogged, mold growing on either side of the glass. The roof caved in slightly at its center, with its edges splitting in various directions.

Craig pulled out one of his lockpicks and a single tension wrench.

He placed both tools into the door’s lock, leaned his ear near them, and slowly turned the wrench. With the pick, he felt around the lock for the tumblers, listening for the faintest click that came from readjusting them.

_One, two, three…_

The door creaked open.

He put his tools away, swiftly stepped into the shop, and reclosed the door.

The inside of the shop was pitch black. He pulled out the small torch strapped to his belt and flint, lighting it. The torch provided little light, but enough for him to faintly see his surroundings.

Craig did not expect the shop to be filled with hundreds of items, many of which overcrowded the shelves they were placed upon.

His employer had informed him that the heirloom was a bright blue jewelry box with silver decorations and a bird on the top.

With a groan, he crept through the walkways, scanning the heavy shelves. He knew he had much time to find the heirloom but did not want to rely on his unexpecting luck.

The search would have gone a lot faster if he had a companion with him.

He did not have the time for his mind to wander.

One of the shelves dipped at its center, the contents overweighing it. Polished silverware and glimmering tea sets lined one end of the shelf and the other held plates and bowls of the same glimmering material.

He saw a chest filled with jewelry, none of it shining, and most of it broken.

A table supported an array of dolls, made of straw and deteriorating fabric. On their faces were painted expressions of false happiness. He remembered seeing children in the streets weaving the straw with their torn fingers.

The children that made them may have been projecting their hopes into these dolls.

Eventually, he found the heirloom. It was placed at the center of the front counter. He blew out the torch with a heavy huff, picked the heirloom up with cautious fingers, and placed it in his knapsack.

Craig’s hands touched nothing but the heirloom and the door.

Holding the knapsack against his chest, he ran through the streets and ducked into alleys. His breath came out harshly, and his scarf did not help in his struggles.

The employer had strict instructions to return the heirloom to his home, where payment would be given upon the exchange. Craig had no objections, but he needed to run halfway across the outskirts, and his home was in the opposite direction. Fortunately, he was avoiding the busiest part of the outskirts.

If anyone in the business section saw him, he would lose the heirloom, and potentially his life.

He ran past broken homes and failing shops, booming brothels and forsaken temples.

The home of his employer was across one of the many temples.

Craig knelt behind the temple’s fence and threw a rock at the home’s door.

Nothing happened.

He waited before throwing another.

No one came to the door.

Groaning, he stood and walked to the home.

Like the windows in the shop, he could see little through them.

Craig jumped, held onto the rooftop, and pulled himself up. Unlike the shop, the home had a very strong roof. He pulled out his torch once more, leaned against the edge, and hit one of the windows several times.

He pulled the torch back, pressed against the roof, and waited.

Fortunately for Craig, the clouds blocked the little moonlight, and the rooftop matched his dark grey attire. An unexpecting person would never be able to spot him.

The wind blew harshly through his thin clothes.

He had not accounted for the weather.

As he gripped the torch once more, the door opened. Craig did not move.

The man stepped outside of the home, his eyes straining in the lowlight. Gold hair and deep blue clothing stuck out against the muted night.

Slowly did Craig’s fingers inch towards his belt.

“Hello?” The man whispered harshly. “If you’re the person I hired, you can come out.”

_A complete idiot. Who would say that out loud?_

Craig pushed himself into a crouch and inched towards the edge of the rooftop. He gripped it and lowered himself down, going back into a crouch, and did not move.

The man looked on either side of the street then turned to go back to his home. He would have missed Craig if the moon had not brightened the night. When he saw him, he jumped back and nearly screamed.

Craig’s hand twitched towards his belt.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.”

No answer.

“I have your money inside. You can come in.”

He did not move.

“Okay. Wait here.” He ran inside but kept the door open.

When he returned, he had a small coin purse. He held it out to Craig. “Five silver pieces and two gold, just like I said.”

Craig looked at the coin purse and nodded to the ground, casting his eyes down to the place in front of him.

The man tossed the coin purse, which Craig caught.

Cautiously, he opened it and counted its contents. Everything seemed to be accounted for. He reached into his knapsack and pulled out the heirloom, placing it between the two of them.

“Thank you, I—”

Craig did not hear what the man was saying, for he ran past him, dashed into the streets, and disappeared into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay we're getting some neat thief stuff. He picks locks like in Skyrim   
> Thank you for reading and take care uwu


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erendriel Chapter 6

Kenny rarely spent time with Cartman, and when she did, his mistress was never too far behind.

The three of them sat at a dramatically large table, feasting on a dinner that could have fed multiple people. Many dishes had roasted meats and poultries, freshly baked bread and starches, and overly sweet desserts.

Standing at the corners of the room were servants and guards, all of which eyed the table anxiously.

She wanted to share the meal with them but knew Cartman would not allow it.

At least they could eat what remained after the royals and mistress dined.

Her veil remained on her face as she peered down on her plate. Gracefully did she lift the bottom of the veil and placed small portions into her mouth. She ate slowly, taking her time, ensuring to remain elegant.

Cartman, however, took heaping mouthfuls and large bites out of his overflowing dish. Though he was the king, he cared little for mannerism and elegance. He could do as he wished and receive no correction.

Wendy ate small portions and often pat her lips with the cloth on her lap.

The three of them were a poor excuse of a family, broken and with no strength to their feign connections.

Though he was her father, Kenny held little love for Cartman. She respected him primarily as the king, for that was what he was: he was the king before he was her father. He placed his priorities for the Kingdom before everything and everyone, including Kenny. When she was born, he barely named her before putting her in the arms of another.

Kenny wondered how things would have been if her mother lived. Hardly anyone talked about her, other than Christophe. There were no portraits of her, none of her belongings were in the castle, no written documentation, not even a memorial. It seemed as if she had never existed in the first place.

She often thought of her mother and countless possibilities, how she would look and act, how happy she would make Kenny and Cartman, and how kind she would be to the servants. Though she knew none would ever come to be. Instead, she had a disassociated king as a father and his mistress as her only maternal figure.

Wendy did not raise her.

The interactions between the two of them were always the same: lessons.

Kenny was raised in a castle with little love and etiquette drilled into her mind. Wendy would sit her down at a table and demonstrate how a lady should sit, how a lady should respond, how a lady should eat, and what a lady should do in countless scenarios.

A lady should never grab a second roll. A lady should never drink liquor. A lady should never chase after a man. A lady should never speak up. A lady should never step out of line.

A lady should act as if someone was watching her constantly.

Wendy was the one that told Kenny about the veil. She came from a wealthy family in a nearby city, and was considered nobility, but did not wear a veil. Wendy was not married, for that would make her the queen, and Cartman did not want a woman ruling at his side.

Once their lessons had concluded, Kenny rarely spoke with Wendy, or saw her, for that matter.

In her solitude, Kenny found herself in the company of Christophe, her uncle, and the man that truly raised and cared for her.

Christophe was secretly a very affectionate man, who showed Kenny many things and experienced them all with her. He showed her how to braid her hair, how to sing, the beauty of the flowers in the garden, wiped her tears, and told her stories of things she never knew.

Before he lived in the castle, Christophe spent his days traveling. At that time, the Kingdom’s lands still held the richness it was born with. The green hills flowed in the wind, looking like waves against the blue skies. Trees offered shade from the warming sun and were the foundation and walls to animal habitats. Flower petals flew through the sky like summer snow, swirling and dancing with the wind. 

On his travels, Christophe wrote everything in his journals, hoping to share his discoveries with those who could not experience it for themselves.

He crossed the entirety of the Kingdom, visiting countless villages and cities. Christophe spoke with few but filled pages upon pages with their conversations. They spoke of life in their world, the foods they would eat, and the unique cultures of their home.

His favorite places in the Kingdom were the natural landscapes. Most of his journals were filled with detailed descriptions of cascading waterfalls and towering mountains, canyons that broke through the earth and endless fields. Though he had little skill in art, he sketched the scenes between his words, and Kenny found them to be masterpieces.

When the lands of the Kingdom started dying, the landscapes succumbed to the plague, and faded into shadows and echoes of a dream.

Christophe nearly burnt all his journals in grief but kept them as a memento of the glorious past.

They became the fantasies of Kenny, the things she dreamt of. She found it strange, the longing and sadness she felt for a land she never knew, but she craved it. One day, she hoped the fantasies and dreams would become a reality. When that time came to be, she would take Christophe to relive his beloved past.

Of course, another would accompany them on their journeys.

Though she saw him less, Damien was never far behind Christophe. Most of the time, he remained in the dungeons, watching over the prisoners, cutting off their fingers one knuckle at a time, or executing them

Cartman and Wendy would have been appalled to hear she knew these things. A lady should not know of such brutal and horrible things.

When she saw Damien, he was usually in his room, and he would answer her grotesquely curious questions, with some restraint. Christophe would scold him, telling him a child should not know of such things. When he did, Damien would stop talking, wink at Kenny, and tell her more when Christophe was away.

Damien scared Kenny slightly. Perhaps it was due to his position, or some other matter, but he had an aura that forced others to look away.

Though it was much different from Cartman’s presence.

Even still, Kenny loved Damien as she loved Christophe, and she knew he did too. Damien was not one to show affection, but he always placed a protective hand on Kenny’s shoulder whenever something troubled her. He would hold her in his arms and promise to scare away her fears.

The three of them spent many nights together in Damien’s room. They had grown accustomed to its musty air that tasted like salt, finding it strangely comforting. Damien’s room was their uncanny haven within the castle.

As someone with a higher position, it was risky for Christophe to wander into Damien’s room, though many paid little mind to it. The same rang true for Kenny: it was unsettling for her to wander into the servants’ wing, but she was easily forgiven.

If Damien were to be found in Christophe’s quarters, he would be the one imprisoned, and if he were found in Kenny’s chambers, an execution would surely follow.

They remained cautious and went to Damien’s small, dark room. It was there where she found herself nuzzled between Christophe and Damien, dreaming of the lands Christophe spoke of, luring Damien in his memories that seemed like a fantasy.

Kenny found herself longing for the salty and warm room as she sat at the table, the only sounds were that of silverware against ceramic plates.

She looked to Cartman and was for once thankful for her veil, for it hid her scowl. The servants in the castle lived in fear and unhappiness. Christophe and Damien could not spend their days and nights together. The people in the Capital were suffering, as well as everyone in the Kingdom itself.

Life had never been kind to the Kingdom’s people, and the war only worsened it.

Unlike Cartman, Kenny was not in favor of the war.

The way she saw it, Erendriel and the Kingdom had been friendly with one another for centuries, and both kingdoms were prosperous at that time. As a child, she remembered seeing the green beyond the Capital’s walls; she remembered the sun and warmth of life. To Kenny, it seemed as if the greed and corruption of Cartman poisoned the Kingdom, and accelerated its death.

An internal sabotage and destruction initiated by the one that was meant to bring the Kingdom to greatness.

She knew Cartman had started the war, and did not believe what he claimed were his motives: the elves of Erendriel stole the life of the Kingdom and he needed to retrieve it.

In the forgotten library, she found letters that were sent by the former kings of Erendriel. All of them spoke of aiding the Kingdom in maintaining its prosperity, yet they were all locked away to be forgotten.

Kenny had overheard many of the conversations Cartman had with King Broflovski before the war. He had practically pleaded and begged Cartman to allow him to help the Kingdom but was turned down.

And then, the war began.

She heard the king and queen of Erendriel had been killed by Cartman, and would not forgive him for that. He initiated a war they could not win and would only cause further damage to both kingdoms.

Kenny wanted the war to end as soon as it started. The Kingdom had far too many internal difficulties to face an external threat. They needed to work within and help their own people, not hurt the elves. She too pleaded to Cartman, telling him the war would be a mistake, and that it should not come to be.

Though she was young, and a woman, and so Cartman tossed her aside and focused on war strategies.

Kenny did not know the current king of Erendriel but hoped he was as rational as his father. To her, all the elves seemed to have some insight into things that the humans could not see. Perhaps it was due to their long lives, or some other reason.

All she knew was that as queen, she would work with Erendriel to help her kingdom, erasing the threat of any war. As queen, she would strive to restore the Kingdom to its former glory, purging the poison that had seeped through the land, and bringing back its prosperity.

End of Act I: Introduction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, everyone. Hope it's a great one.  
> If you guys don't know what a mistress is, I can't help ya there.  
> One of the revisions from the original draft is Kenny's character. She used to be this oblivious princess that went with whatever her father said, not knowing the true extent of his corruption. Lame. Boring. Look at her now :3  
> No mini-break after this Act, because I'm trying to catch up to Erendriel, but there will be pauses between uploads in the later Acts  
> Thanks for reading, and take care uwu


	6. Act II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erendriel Chapter 7  
> Content warning: mentions of sex work/prostitution

The layer of clouds had lifted slightly, allowing bursts of light and pockets of blue. A promising day, to say the least, and one Cartman would spend doing one of the few things he enjoyed. He stood before a mirror, arms lifted as a servant woman wrapped a flamboyant cloth around his waist. Another servant woman placed golden rings on his fingers, and a third brushed his hair. The servant woman kept their eyes down, and worked cautiously yet quickly.

At the end, one placed a heavy crown atop his neatly brushed hair.

“Tell me, do I look like a king?” He glared at himself through the mirror. His crown glowed in the low light, crimson robe made of a cloth that felt like liquid and glimmered. The cloth at his waist appeared to be made of gold, taking away from his array of jewels and rings.

“You are the one and only king.” One of the women curtsied low.

Cartman huffed and walked to his chamber doors. “Make sure everything is set and ready,” he stated as he opened the doors. “I don’t want the weather to go bad while we’re out.”

He walked out of his chambers, leaving the doors wide open. Light peeked through the sparse windows, casting the walls in a grey and white pattern. Cartman’s shadow flickered between the pattern, following him intently.

The halls were strangely empty, more than usual. Cartman did not mind, preferring to avoid close contact with the servants of the castle. Preparations for the day’s events were finished, but preparations for tomorrow’s banquet were beginning. They were off doing something to serve him, something that would please him.

He walked down one of the staircases, found himself near one of the smaller kitchens, and peeked inside. A man was adjusting some of the supplies and food in the pantries.

Cartman cleared his throat.

The man jumped and nearly fell to the floor in his bow. “Forgive me, your majesty. How may I be of service?”

“Are there any rolls from last night’s dinner?”

“Of course.” He rushed to another pantry, placed a sweet roll onto a cloth and plate with a fork and knife, then bowed before Cartman while holding it up to him.

Cartman took the roll, ignoring the plate, cloth, and silverware, then walked out of the kitchen.

As he ate his sweet roll, he continued down to the base of the castle. The morning meal had not been prepared, in favor of preparing for the day’s events, but he could not be without something in his stomach. When dressed, the servant woman had to loosen the cloth around his waist several times.

With the stress of war came the need to indulge in anything possible, be it food, liquor, or women. Though, none of the women in the castle could ever hope to satisfy him, for they were all lowly and dirty. The women of the streets were far worse. He was repulsed by their presence, offering themselves to any man that paid them.

He would not belittle himself as Clyde often did. No, his woman was one with dignity and strength, one that saved herself for him and only him. Wendy, his Wendy, the one he could call for when he needed to release frustrations or satisfy his bodily needs. All he needed to do was summon her, and she would be there, ready to be of use to him.

Yet she would not be joining him that day.

No, the day was meant for him, and his daughter.

He needed to show the people of the Kingdom who their ruler was, and he could not possibly have a woman such as Wendy there beside him. Kenny was the only exception, for she was the princess. Cartman would have preferred a son, but a daughter would be enough. He would never allow her to marry or come into any true power. As long as he was king, everyone would have to bend to his will and obey, including Kenny.

* * *

Alone at the front of the castle, Kenny’s blush dress flowed in the soft wind, her veil of a similar color. Her hair had been braided at the front, wrapped around her head, mimicking the golden crown atop of it.

She wished Christophe would accompany her, but knew Cartman would not allow anyone to be a part of the display.

Cartman walked out of the doors and Kenny frowned. He was late, sucking his fingers and wiping his chest. Kenny’s stomach cramped.

“Now, then,” Cartman clapped. “Shall we go, Kenny?”

“But of course, father.” She curtsied, teeth clenched.

The two stepped onto a large and ostentatious carriage, one far too open to ride in comfortably. It was not one for travel, but one for show and parading. Two stallions with neatly trimmed manes and braided tails stood ready at the front of the carriage, and armored guards holding spears formed a perimeter around the royals.

Once everything had been set and ready, the coachman urged the horses forward, away from the palace, and towards the city.

* * *

With no new jobs calling for a thief, Craig was left to wander through the wealthier streets of the city. He had found nothing on Tweek, and had no leads as to what happened to him. Stoley had said Tweek yelled the usual before disappearing, and Craig knew perfectly well what that meant.

There was a treasure somewhere inside of the castle, and Tweek was going to be the one to find it.

If Tweek did somehow end up in the castle, the entire Capital would have known about it. The king was not one to take such offenses lightly, and would order a public execution for those who dared trespass in his castle.

There had been no public executions in a few weeks.

Craig had to be missing something, something that Tweek had said at some point. He thought back on their countless jobs but could think of nothing. Tweek was out there, somewhere, and Craig was going to find him.

Tweek had been the only person he could rely on when he was alone in the relentless Capital, the only person he trusted. For him to disappear without any warning was alarming, and Craig could not help but feel abandoned once again.

His mother had not truly abandoned him. She succumbed to her illness and died wishing for him to live a life in comfort. Instead, he lived his life stealing from others.

Craig had not thought of his mother for many years but could remember her face perfectly. She always held a smile, never letting others trample over her. Her hair attracted many, for it was blonde and densely curled. She had never told Craig why she left her family, for she could have lived a comfortable life. The Stevens family was not a noble family, nor one wealthy, but his mother had walked away from it.

Her name was Bebe, and she wanted to experience life to the fullest. Why she came to the Capital remained a mystery, for it was full of death. Somehow, she found herself forced into the outskirts of town, and adopted the only profession a woman could successfully have in the outskirts. She gave herself to any man in exchange for a fee. 

Bebe had never enjoyed it, but knew it was the only job that would provide for her, even if she was educated. From one of her clients, Craig had been conceived, which forced Bebe to stop working for a long period of time. Once he was born, she returned to her job and resented it more than before. She started saving as much as she could, determined to obtain a better life for her and Craig. Eventually, she found herself a second job within an inn. Bebe worked tirelessly for many years, collecting slowly. With both jobs, she could save faster, and move away sooner.

She never saved enough, fell ill, and died alone in their poor excuse of a home.

Craig blamed the job that had made him and vowed to never use a woman as his mother had been used.

He looked up and saw crowds gathered at either side of the streets. An unknown curiosity drove him to join the crowd and watch the sight before them.

* * *

Cartman inhaled deeply, breathing in the cold city air, and had to force himself to remain composed and not gag. He hated the people of the commonwealth, though they were his subjects. They were all so dirty, so needy, vermin and parasites. They simply took and expected him to solve all their problems.

Even still, he enjoyed parading through the streets, showing them that he was the king, the gracious ruler of the Kingdom, and that he held all the power.

If he did not show his strength, they would think he had gone soft and weak and could rebel against him. Though, they were the ones that were weak. They had no power, and hardly any strength in their thin bodies. If they ever raised a hand against him, he could simply imprison and execute them.

A simple solution to the problem.

In a matter of days, most of his subjects would find their name in a draft, and many of them would be sent to the frontlines to fight Erendriel.

Cartman would be solving two of his issues at once: purging the land of the elves and putting a stronger hold on the Kingdom. He would have both kingdoms in the palm of his hand, and his power would grow. No longer would they have to fight to survive, and he would have everything he wanted.

Everything, except one thing.

Beside him, Kenny sighed. As the carriage dragged through the streets, she looked everyone in the face. They were all pale, malnourished, and weak. Cartman would never dare step foot in the outskirts of the Capital, but even in the center of the city, she could see and smell its decay. Her heart ached. There were so many people living terribly in her city, in her home. She lived comfortably, yes, but hardly found herself happy.

The conditions of the Capital were one of the factors of her distress.

She saw a little girl sitting at a crate and weaving straw. The little girl looked up, eyes wide and dazzling in her dirtied and ashen face.

Kenny smiled, her eyes soft, and she waved to the little girl.

Cartman scoffed beside her, and she gripped the skirt of her dress.

“Don’t treat them like they matter.”

“Maybe they matter to me.”

He looked to her, eying her up and down, but turned looked away.

Kenny never turned to face him, and instead looked to the gathering crowds.

One day, she promised, one day she would give the people of the Capital what they needed and deserved.

* * *

Craig barely caught the rear view of the carriage. Through the crowd and stalking guards, he was able to see a grotesquely decorated crown atop a brown and greying head, and a golden head of hair.

He sneered. It was the royals, once again participating in one of their disgusting displays of wealth. Everyone knew they existed, for they resented them every single day of their lives. While the people starved and died, they were prancing around and gloating.

Every one of their displays was nothing more than another blow to their degraded hearts, damning them further down in their own misery.

Craig could feel the acidic burn of bile in his throat. The thought of nobles and royals disgusted him. He hated the hierarchy of the Kingdom, and how only a select few lived in comfort while the others wasted away. How revolting he found them and their ways. Everything they did seemed pointless. There was no need to wear the finest of clothes, no need to live in a castle or manner that could fit hundreds, no need to feed until their bellies were about to burst, and no need to prance through the streets as a reminder that they were superior to every worthless soul in the Capital.

He clenched his fists and turned away, walking as far away from the crowd as possible.

“Did you hear?” A woman asked another.

“What? Tell me.”

“Nobles from other cities are coming.”

“What? There’s no way. Why would they?”

“Well, I heard that the king is hosting another one of his parties tomorrow.”

“Another one? Doesn’t he have anything better to do?”

The women laughed and were drowned out by other voices.

Craig nearly stopped in his tracks. There was to be yet another banquet of nobles at the castle. Many would fill the castle and would be too preoccupied with their own pleasantries to take notice of their surroundings. He had investigated the castle walls countless times with Tweek and found many ways to enter unnoticed. While the nobles and royals were off indulging, no one would notice him if he snuck in. The path seemed to be opening for him, an opportunity presenting itself. If Tweek had somehow managed to enter the castle, Craig was going to find him. He had to hurry. Preparations needed to be made and he had a limited amount of time. Craig was going to find a way to enter the castle, sneak through the banquet, and rescue his friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna really try to have longer chapters from this point on.  
> Yeah, character relations are REALLY weird in this fic.   
> Thank you for reading and take care uwu


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erendriel Chapter 8  
> Content Warning: depictions of violence and torture

A roar of voices echoed through the castle. King Cartman, Princess Kenny, and Wendy sat at the back of the dining hall, facing the doors and nobles seated at perpendicular tables. They were at the long end of the table, Christophe and a noble across from each other on either side. At the corners of the room, musicians played a subtle yet carrying tune, which was quickly drowned out by noble voices and laughter, their endeavors for naught.

The nobles were talking amongst each other, barking laughter, and feasting on the dishes prepared before them. There were roasted birds, pigs, and venison; bread, soups, oozing pastries, and hardy stews were but a fraction of the dishes placed upon every table.

Everyone took more than they could handle, yet scarfed it down. Wine overflowed and spilled to the ground, chunks of food carelessly dropped or thrown from utensils.

In a hall filled with the civil wealth of the Kingdom, a rowdy uproar disrupted the silence of the castle.

Two armored guards with spears stood outside of the doors of the dining hall, failing to stand still and keep their eyes forward. The contents of the dining hall were incredibly tempting, the aromas overwhelming, and the noise unbearable. They clutched their spears, which trembled with the sudden strength.

Kenny could not hear any of the conversations shared, for they all blurred into one cacophonous groan. She scanned the faces in the hall, watching them all devour the contents before them without a care to the world outside of those four walls. They were all lively, feverish, even. With few windows, the hall quickly became hot and humid. There were too many bodies and mouthbreathers gathered in one place, and she wanted no part of any of it.

Most of the nobles were men, though there were a few women amongst them. Kenny noted that she was the only one wearing a veil in the hall, and many of the noblewomen did not look much older than her.

They were not royalty and were more than likely married off for their fathers to gain wealth or land.

As the voices and music continued, entertainers flowed into the hall. There were four women dressed in opaque cloths that draped loosely over their bodies, covering very little. They stood in the center of the hall in a diamond shape, holding long batons with ribbons wrapped around them. Simultaneously, they flicked their wrists, ribbons cascading to the floor.

Gradually did the conversations quiet, now overpowered by the subtle tune.

The dancers held their arms out, standing on their toes, and began to spin, ribbons encasing them. Harshly did they stop, rolling their wrists at their sides before extending one arm and pulling the other back. They kept shifting their reach, then continued to spin. Both dancers on the sides tossed their ribbons to each other, then the two on the ends exchanged ribbons.

Kenny had seen dancers in their banquets but had never seen ribbon dancers. Their movements were swift and easy, flowing like a brook over stones. As their performance continued, she found herself as entranced as the nobles, amazed at what certain people had the potential to do.

Once the nobles began to bore, the dancers stopped, breathless and faces gleaming. They turned towards each other, joined at the center, exchanged a quick word, and resumed their positions, ready to resume their dance.

There was something different about this next performance, and Kenny found herself leaning forward, intrigued.

Instead of swift movements, the dancers moved in harsh jerks. Gone was the brook, replaced by a raging river. They moved quickly, their ribbons transforming into a cloud of color. The faster they moved, the stronger the scent of smoke grew.

Their ribbons had been lit aflame, growing shorter with every swing.

With their ribbons burned, the batons remained aflame. The dancers moved away from each other, towards their audience, slashing fire through the air, leaving behind impressions of shapes.

The dancer at the front walked up to the royal table, sweat beading down her chin. Kenny could not take her eyes away from her, feeling the heat of the flame on her face. She felt herself smiling with the dancer.

On the final swing, the dancers slammed their batons to the ground, the flame dying.

Applause and awes filled the room, the dancers bowing deeply. The one before the royal table exchanged a final glance at Kenny before joining her group and leaving the hall.

Cartman stood, and everyone silenced. “Now then,” he started, “Since our entertainment has ended, shall we head to the banquet hall?”

* * *

It was dark, the air musty and sullen. Groans and coughs echoed off the stone walls, footsteps gradually growing louder.

The man held his torch in one hand, the other folded behind his back, a bag hanging from his shoulder. He stopped before a black iron cell, placing his torch on a burnt sconce. Inside the cell, a lump of a body quivered.

“Dear me,” the man said. “What have they done to you? You're so shaken up.” He stuck his arms between some of the bars, clasping his hands and grinning. “Well, do not worry. I am here and will be your friend. The name’s Damien. It’s a pleasure to be acquainted with you.”

* * *

The party hall was many times larger than the dining hall, which allowed Kenny to breathe. Tables lined the walls, holding treats and refreshments. The center of the hall was empty, giving the nobles space to roam and talk with one another.

Different musicians dotted the hall, playing louder instruments. Many took this as an indication to start dancing, but none acted upon it. They were waiting for others to initiate it, not wanting to be outcasted or looked at.

Several nobles lingered by the tables on the perimeter, picking at the sweets they held. Servant women stood perched between the tables holding pitchers of wine and liquor, ready to serve anyone that approached them. As always, guards stood outside of the hall.

Cartman held out a goblet to one of the servant women. While she poured him liquor, he looked around the hall, nodding approvingly. Everyone seemed carefree, focused only on what was presented before them. There was no need to think or linger on trivial things such as responsibilities. Everyone in that hall deserved to enjoy themselves, relishing in their right of pleasantries.

He knew that he needed it, and knew that he deserved it more than anyone in that hall.

Once his goblet was filled, he took a greedy gulp and popped a sweet into his mouth. He set out for the slowly growing crowd, laughing and conversing with them. Many spoke of things he knew little of or cared none for but managed to put a word into their exchanges.

The nobles were friendly to him, far kinder than the servants in the castle, or the people in the Capital. He tolerated their presence and they seemed to enjoy his, a mutual and pleasant transaction between them.

“Oh, King Cartman, a pleasure.” A noble from the east bowed his head, the woman at his side curtsying.

“It’s been a while,” Cartman said, barely recalling who the noble was.

“Yes, it has. Is life here in the Capital still terrible? The smell was horrendous coming in.”

“You know how those people are, living in their own filth and not having the will to get out of it. We are of a different kind, wealthy and sophisticated.” He grinned and drank from his goblet.

The noble nodded. “Right you are, your grace.”

“Enjoy the banquet. Carry on, then.” Cartman turned away from the noble and walked back into the crowd, looking for the next party he could speak with.

* * *

Damien shushed him and pet his shaven head.

“Don’t cry, don’t cry. The higher-ups said not to kill you. I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing, for either of us. You don’t want to go through this, and I want to enjoy myself. They’re up there doing who knows what, and I am down here. It’s just us, so let’s make the best of it.”

The prisoner continued to whimper, curling in on himself, trying to make himself smaller and disappear. He did not want to be there, in the dungeons with that mad man, nor did he want to live. It would have been better for them to have killed him on the spot. He did not want to die, but he did not want to live through what that Damien character had planned for him.

“Please, do not make this harder than it needs to be.” Damien frowned. He too did not want to be in the dungeons, especially with the banquet taking place. Being a servant, he would have never hoped to be a part of a banquet. He knew that Christophe and Kenny were in the banquet, and his chest ached at the thought of being away from them. With a sigh, he pushed down his thoughts and emotions and pulled a needle and hammer from his bag.

“I need some help in here,” Damien called out.

One of the guards hesitated, but eventually joined Damien inside of the cell.

“Hold him.”

The guard did as he was told.

Damien held the prisoner’s hand, which was clenched in a tight fist. He forced it open and held it before him, eying it and tilted it from side to side.

“You have working hands. Such a shame, really. You have a family waiting for you, I’m quite sure.” His throat tightened and he swallowed harshly as he placed a needle under the tip of a nail. “They will need someone else to help them.”

The prisoner was weeping.

Damien took the hammer, spun his wrist in a dramatic fashion, and hit the needle.

Screams full of agony and pain erupted from the prisoner, his body thrashing.

The guard held him still while Damien dropped the hammer and clutched the prisoner’s hand.

“Stop screaming! You will disrupt the lords above! Besides, your nail is still intact. We’ve only just begun.” Damien grit his teeth as he struggled to keep the prisoner’s hand in place. He grasped the needle and began to move it across the prisoner’s nail bed. The needle had not gone far, which allowed for slow movement over the nail bed and towards the base.

Blood began to drip to the brick floor, a steady beat leading the prisoner’s screams.

* * *

He exhaled deeply but silently, standing in the darkness atop of the hill. Light shone from the inside of the castle, and the rowdy howls of nobles rang through the air.

Craig never liked nobility and detested having to be near them. They did little except drink and talk, mouthbreathers the lot of them. Disgust grew at the pit of his stomach, tensing his muscles. He could not let himself get distracted, for his life could be in danger.

Tweek’s obsession had brought them on numerous patrols around the castle’s walls. At intervals, there were openings at the base, though iron bars lined them. Over the years, Tweek and Craig had managed to loosen the bars of one of the openings, granting them access to the castle within.

Craig dashed towards that opening near the back of the castle. He had no hope of entering through the main gates. Though many of the guards would be preoccupied with the nobles within, he could not take any chances. Even within the castle, he had to be extra cautious. In order to prevent suspicion, he left his gauntlets, boots, and chest plate at home. He planned to sneak into the castle and impersonate a noble’s servant. Carrying only a dagger and a few tools, he hoped to blend with the foreign servants, and wished his dark clothing would be suitable for the part.

As he lowered himself to the ground and spun the bars from their place, he thought on his missing companion. Tweek had spoken to Craig on numerous occasions about the hidden treasure within the castle. Of course, he told anyone with ears about his thoughts, but Craig was the only one who listened and did not turn him away.

The bars became dislocated and Craig dropped to his stomach, shuffling through the small opening. Once inside of the wall, he sloppily placed the bars against the wall. Without knowing, none would see anything wrong with them, though they were crooked and leaning at an angle. Craig stood and dusted himself off. Luckily, there were no guards patrolling the wall. He silently groaned at the incompetence of the guards, but also thanked them.

At the back of the castle, one of the kitchens had a loose window, one he could easily open and climb through. The kitchen was empty and dark, and he managed to sneak outside of it without any trouble. Inside the castle, the true challenge presented itself.

The castle was enormous, and he had no idea how to navigate inside of it. If he had more time to prepare, he would have paid someone for a map of the castle’s structure. He clicked his tongue, looking left then right through a dimly lit hallway.

When Tweek rambled, he insisted on one specific place within the castle, one that he was more than certain had _something_ valuable within it: the western tower. Why Tweek insisted this Craig knew not, yet it gave him a start. If Tweek had made it inside of the castle, that would have been the first place he looked to.

Craig went to his left, hoping it led west and wished to find some sign from Tweek.

* * *

“It seems to me as if we’re finished here.”

Damien stretched his arms and rubbed his neck.

The prisoner no longer had the strength to scream or weep, and could only clutch his bloody, nail-less hands to his chest. His body shook in intervals, hot flashes running through it, and bright flashes exploding through his darkening vision.

“Thank you for your help. I’ll make sure to have someone bring you a sweet roll.” Damien clapped the guard on the back before exiting the cell. “Oh, and don’t bother cleaning up.” He smiled then walked away from the dungeon.

The guard looked down at the prisoner. He had given him far too much trouble, thrashing at every small movement from Damien, even if he were simply wiping his brow. The sight disgusted him, and he felt no pity for the prisoner. He was simply glad he was not the one in the cell, and was more than willing to hold down any prisoner to prevent himself from becoming one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, a longer chapter, and Papa Damien uwu  
> I noticed both Kenny and Craig call them "mouthbreathers." Couple goals   
> Thank you for reading and take care uwu


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erendriel Chapter 8

Kenny lingered near one of the tables at the end of the hall, near the wide-open doors. She watched as the nobles danced, drunk out of their minds, nearly falling with every step. Windows dotted the wall behind her, the dimly lit sky reflecting the scene before her.

Her mind wandered back, recalling the dancer that approached her table. She was beautiful and graceful, someone that—without a doubt—experienced things no one should. Kenny wondered how she would look dressed as a lady and with the mannerisms to match it. She chuckled to herself, saddened by the fact that she did not catch the dancer’s name, more so that she would never see her again.

“My princess,” a noble said in front of her, bowing deeply.

Kenny turned to look at the noble. He was younger than most, with platinum blond hair and pale blue eyes.

“My lord.” She bowed her head.

“Oh, please, not that.” He laughed, the air reeking of alcohol. “What are you doing here on your lonesome? Shouldn’t you be out there dancing, like everyone else?” He took a daring step forward.

Kenny looked at his advancing step before shooting her eyes back up. “Well, I can’t dance alone, now, can I?”

“That, my dear princess—” he emphasized every syllable of the word, advancing as he did so, nearly pressing Kenny against the wall. “Is an easy fix.”

From behind the noble, Kenny was able to see Christophe eying them warily. He looked ready to intervene, but Kenny shot him an easing glance, the noble not noticing.

“My lord, if you’d please.” Her shoulders were firm and back straight.

He stepped away, stumbling slightly as he did so. “Apologies for that, princess. It’s just that—” he looked her up and down, blinking lazily. “You’re just so beautiful—”

Kenny forced a snarky comment on her veil down. 

“And you shouldn’t be alone, especially at this celebration.”

She hummed. “And what exactly are we celebrating, my lord?”

He let out a single chuckle that sounded more like a groan. “Why, our status and wealth, of course! We can celebrate however we want, whenever we want, and anytime we want. We’re no filthy common people! You, my princess, are the greatest gem of them all, and should have men bowing at your feet, kissing the ground which you step on.”

Kenny knew this noble. He was Lord Leopold Stotch, one of the regular participants in Cartman’s meetings. She never took him for a heavy drinker, or perhaps he could not hold down his liquor. Or—even worse—he truly acted in such a ridiculous manner and spoke such idiocies daily.

“You’ll have to forgive me, for I—”

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

Leopold jumped and nearly dropped to the floor. “Your majesty!”

Cartman sneered at the sight. “I see you’re talking with my daughter?”

Kenny bit her lip.

“Why, yes, yes I was. I was simply honoring her beauty and hoping to share a dance with her. It would be the greatest honor to do so.”

Lord Leopold’s demeanor had completely changed, and Kenny wondered if his flattering act was the reason why he was in the king’s inner circle.

“I see, then.” Cartman gave Kenny a hard and stern look before turning back to Leopold, putting his hand on his shoulders, voice full of warmth. “Why not come with me and we can discuss more important matters?”

Leopold’s gaze wandered to Kenny as he was being pulled away. “Oh, but I was—”

“Don’t worry about me,” Kenny quickly said, “Please, go enjoy yourself and spend your time with the King. I’m afraid I’m ready to retire for the night. Banquets are quite exhausting.” In truth, Kenny simply wanted to put as much distance between her and the nobles as possible.

“As you wish, princess.” Leopold let Cartman guide him away without another word.

Kenny exhaled deeply, finding herself alone once more, and pushed herself from the wall, walking out of the party hall. In the corridor, the light and sound of the party hall bled through, and she did not make it far from the doors before someone stopped her.

* * *

Craig had to admit that entering the castle was the worst idea he had ever had.

He had no sense of direction, no sense of where he was, and no idea how to return to the kitchen he entered from. All the halls and corridors looked the same, as did the doors and décor. If there were any visible windows, he would have had an easier time navigating through the castle. He cursed the nobility and royals.

The darkness did not make it any easier.

Subconsciously, Craig reached up to his neck to pull on his scarf, but his fingers grasped at air. He had left his beloved scarf at home and regretted it at that moment. No servant would have worn such a garment, and his disguise would have been meaningless, but he needed the comfort that came with it.

Living as a thief, Craig needed something to hide his face. Should anyone see him, they would discover his identity, and he would not be able to walk freely through the streets, not that he could either way. Still, he needed the security that came with hiding himself while stealing as to not attract any of his targets daily. He would much rather run from bandits on the streets than receive public accusations and conflict regarding something he stole.

When he first joined his guild, he was paired with the other youngest member: Tweek. He was not a thief but was willing to help Craig in any way he could. In turn, Craig would often accompany him with his jobs. Either way, they both needed to hide their identities. One day, Tweek had given Craig a black scarf. Tweek claimed it was not much, but hoped it would help keep Craig safe. For him, he wrapped a brown scarf around his neck.

Craig gave him a stern and slow nod, his way of showing Tweek his gratitude.

Ever since then, he hardly took off his scarf. Sneaking, running, fighting, and time was not kind to the scarf, which was now torn in various places and completely destroyed in others. Regardless, Craig cherished and wore the scarf as if it were a part of him.

Until he decided to infiltrate the castle, which he had already decided was a terrible mistake. He felt far more alone than on his jobs, exposed and vulnerable to everything around him. Of course, he could quickly be discovered and killed, but that was the least of his worries.

Turning a corner, he nearly crashed into a guard.

They both jumped back, the guard nearly screaming, Craig tensing and reaching for his belt.

“Who are you?” The guard reached for his own belt. “And what are you doing here?”

_This could work in my favor._

“I came with my lord for the banquet,” And then he quickly added, “Sir.”

The guard eyed Craig suspiciously. “You did, aye? What lord? You still haven’t answered my other questions.”

Craig had to think and act quickly. He knew few nobles and did not know which would be in attendance, and hoped the guard was as oblivious as he was.

“I came with Lord Donnely, sir. He sent me on a walk to stretch my aching joints. You see, I had an accident as a child in his manner, sir. While carrying some platters to my lord, I fell down some stairs and injured my leg, sir.” He pat his right thigh for emphasis. Every word he spoke sent bile to his throat.

The guard’s gaze softened. “I’m very sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I won’t keep you any longer. Please make your way back to the guest quarters.”

“Ah, sir? This is my first time in the castle, and I don’t know where that is.” Craig nearly called him sir but bit his tongue. He felt he would give himself away if he said it too much.

“Right, well, if you go down this corridor, you should eventually find it split in two. Go down the right and up the staircase. The guest quarters will be on the second floor.”

“And what’s to the left?”

“The western wing.”

“Thank you, sir!” Craig hobbled down the corridor, putting his hand against the right wall and refraining from bending his right leg. It seemed as if the castle cared little who they employed in their ranks. Thankfully the guard was an idiot, and let Craig fool him and get the exact information he needed.

When the guard rounded the corner and went out of sight, Craig silently dashed down the corridor.

* * *

“My princess, what’s wrong?” Christophe held Kenny’s gaze.

“Nothing, Christophe.” She hesitated at the last word, wanting to call him by their intimate title, but not daring to provoke any listening ears. “I only want to return to my chambers. I’m tired.”

Christophe raised his brows. “Tired, you say? Is this true?”

“Of course. What else?”

“This has nothing to do with that noble, does it?”

Kenny looked away.

Christophe sighed and lead her deeper into the darkened corridor. “My rose, these nobles do not think, only indulge and drink. They can be horrible, but they’re directly under the king, supporting him. I know they’re not ideal, but they are the people of this kingdom. Someday, you might find yourself married to one of them. Lord Leopold would be ideal, being the youngest of the bunch, but there is no way of knowing.”

“I’d rather remain a maiden.”

“Dearest rose, you don’t mean that, and I would not want that for you. My princess and rose deserves someone that will love her and cherish her. Damien and I can only do so much, and will not be with you forever.”

Kenny felt her eyelashes moisten. “I know, papa, I know, but I can’t stand any of those people in there.”

“Well—” He gently pushed one of her golden curls behind her shoulder. “Maybe as queen, you can help change how they are.” He offered her a faint but kind smile.

She returned his smile. “I hope so.”

“Now, get to your chambers and rest. Do you need me to escort you?”

“No, no. I’m fine. Go enjoy the banquet.”

Christophe chuckled. “My rose, I hate it in there as much as you do.”

* * *

He finally found the western wing and maneuvered to its end, finding himself at the base of a winding staircase. This had to be it; it had to be the tower.

If he continued, there would be no turning back. The potential to get ambushed and killed was incredibly high, and there was no guarantee he would find anything regarding Tweek. He could be trapped there, slowly starving and wasting away.

Confidence filled his chest as he inhaled, then he took a step forward.

The steps were incredibly narrow and far darker than the corridors of the castle. He kept a hand on a wall as he climbed, straining his eyes, but to no avail. This had to be the tower, for no other structures in the castle were built in such a way.

Craig hoped there was light at the top of the tower to look for any signs of Tweek. He did not know what that could entail, be it the thrashing of furniture, shed blood, a dropped weapon, or perhaps his scarf. There could also be something that Craig would overlook, completely ruining any chances he had at seeing his friend again.

There was no time to think, for light leaked through the cracks in a door.

He crouched and tried the doorknob. It was unlocked.

Craig did not know if that was a good or bad sign.

Slowly did the door open, the faintest of creaks sounding through the tower.

He leaped inside and shut the door.

What stood before him was something he would have never expected.

There was a small walkway in the immediate entrance, which then extended to the full width of the room. Tapestries covered the indentations of the walls. At the center of the room, there was a large bed covered with silk sheets. To the far-right corner, there was a large wardrobe, and chests lined the far wall. A window with intercepting lattice took the center of the back wall, and a vanity desk took the right one. The left side of the room had a small table with two chairs.

There was absolutely nothing of value there.

He wasted his time, endangered his life, and ultimately failed.

Craig’s throat tightened and he dove towards one of the chests, fumbling with its latch and throwing it open. There were dolls inside, the kind the children of the outskirts wove. He dug deeper in the chest but found other handcrafted items.

The other chests were not much different.

They had cloth, books, parchment, and other common things. He carefully put the items back in their place.

Nothing had any true worth, and nothing was of value to him.

He spun towards the vanity table, his last hope. There were earrings, bracelets, and necklaces hung on a small stand, a brush placed before the mirror, and little else. Craig caught his dim reflection in the mirror, his eyes wide and crazed.

There was nothing.

Fists clenched, he was to slam the table when the doorknob turned.

Someone was walking into the room, but who? Everyone was attending the banquet. The room was far too luxurious for a mere servant but far too bare for any noble. His hand shot to his belt, where a single dagger hung. Easily could he strike the incoming person and save himself, but that could cause alarm in the castle. If someone found the body or heard the scream, all the idiotic guards would search for him. Craig had no way to fool them all, nor run from them.

He had no time to think and sprung to one of the wall indentations, covering himself with a tapestry.

Craig stopped his quickened breathing and went still, dagger against his chest.

A deep inhale sounded from the door, then a heavy exhale. The door closed, and the person stepped into the room. With every step, a clack echoed against the walls. There were sounds of shuffling from where Craig assumed was the vanity table. He pressed himself flatter against the wall.

Kenny removed her crown then her veil, placing them casually atop the vanity table. She looked at her dim reflection, her golden hair off-brown, blue eyes looking green. With gentle hands, she caressed her jawline, gentle fingers trailing down towards her chin.

A face only she had grown to know, others longed to see, but could never touch.

Slowly did she begin to unwind her braids, taking them down one at a time, one strand at a time. She did not want to sleep and had to do something to preoccupy her excited mind. Hours spent drowning out the day called for lively nights.

Dramatic yet soft waves pooled over her shoulders and framed her face. Seas of gold, Christophe had once called them.

_“The greatest gem of them all…”_

Kenny smiled at herself in the mirror and meticulously removed her earrings and necklace. Unlike Cartman, she did not wear sacks full of gold on her body: she preferred beauty in modesty. When one over adorned with jewelry or the most elegant of cloths, the natural beauty of the person was lost, drowned out by the presence of gold or silk.

With a content little clap, she was about to head to the wardrobe to undress when something in the mirror caught her eye. Squinting, she leaned towards the mirror and saw one of her tapestries moving.

She spun on her heels, gripping the edge of the table behind her, muscles tense.

“Who’s there? Come out now.” Her voice was hard and firm, cold and without emotion.

At first, nothing happened. Kenny had assumed she hallucinated due to the long and bothersome day. As she began to relax her tensed muscles, a click sounded from the tapestry, which was pulled back, and a man dressed in dark grey stepped out. In the low-light, Kenny could make out his black hair, dark skin, and brown eyes.

Craig had a deep scowl on his face but tried to maintain his noble servant role. He moved his hands in a way to hide his dagger without sheathing it.

“Who are you?” Kenny’s muscles tensed harsher than before.

“I’m a servant, from one of the nobles.”

“Oh? Which noble?”

“Lord Donnely.”

Kenny brought her hand up and let out a loud but humorless laugh. “Lord Donnely, you say? Well, I’m sorry to say that the people in his town revolted, burnt down his manner, and his head was flaunted through the streets. This happened—oh, I don’t know—a few days ago, perhaps? Now tell me—” She took a heavy step forward, eyes burning in the low light. “Who are you really, what are you doing in my room, and why are you terribly hiding that dagger?”

Craig flinched and slowly pulled out his dagger. He saw the woman tense noticeable, but he eased it to the floor, never breaking eye contact. This woman was the first pleasant surprise of the night. She was incredibly beautiful, he had to admit, and his will to retaliate against her faded with the drop of the dagger.

“I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m a thief, not an assassin.”

Kenny quirked a brow and held out her chest. “A thief, you say? Is that why you’re in my room? Go ahead and look around—” she smirked, “I’m sure you’ll find something _really_ valuable here, in this tiny, boring room.”

“Already looked.”

“And?”

“Nothing.”

Kenny chuckled. “Really?” She emphasized the word, almost mimicking Christophe’s accent. “Nothing? Go on, take something. I won’t look, won’t tell anyone.”

Craig shook his head. “I didn’t come here to steal.”

“But you’re a thief, aren’t you?”

He clicked his tongue. “Yes, but I didn’t come here to steal.” His voice hardened at the repetition. “I’m looking for a comrade.”

Kenny leaned back against the table. “Well, I can assure you, no one’s been here except you and me. Sorry to say you’ll find nothing on this comrade of yours.”

Craig glared at his feet.

Kenny looked him up and down, taking interest in the man before her. She had neglected to realize her face was exposed and instead wanted to expose him further.

“What’s your name, thief?”

No answer.

She frowned. “If you’re going to break into my room, at least show some courtesy. Tell me your name.”

He reached for his dagger and sheathed it. A pause, then he said, “Craig.”

“Wonderful name. Mine’s Kenny.”

Craig looked at Kenny. “That’s a boy’s name.”

She blinked at him but otherwise had no readable expression. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

They stood there, facing one another, watching each other.

“Tell me, Craig—” Kenny subtly nodded to his dagger, eyes on it. “You seem to be good with that. Have you ever killed anyone?”

When it came to combat, Craig was more than skilled with a dagger. He had seen more than a few fights and all of them ended with bloodshed. Craig was not a novice when it came to striking down his enemies, killing them in cold blood. His first kill happened when he was just a boy, barely starting in the field of thievery.

Craig had killed before, countless times, but it never got easier.

He killed to survive, not as some cruel sport. Craig was forever haunted by the ragged breaths of his victim, their blood and sins pouring onto his hands, staining his soul, their dying words, their vacant eyes.

“No,” he said simply, void of emotion.

Kenny hummed. “I see. Well, good luck trying to find your comrade. Now, get out of my room.”

He gawked at her. “Really? And how am I supposed to do that, girl with a boy’s name?”

“Just go out the way you came.”

“I don’t know where!” He threw his arms in the air.

Kenny looked at him for a moment longer before laughing into her hand.

Craig’s chest felt light and warm.

“Fine. I’ll help you, and on the way, I want to hear more about this companion of yours.”

* * *

Craig could not believe that Kenny was the princess. When she put on her veil, he nearly slapped himself.

He was in the presence of a royal, the ones he hated, but found her tolerable.

They had to sneak through the halls, careful to not be seen. If a guest or guard had seen the princess with a mere servant, suspicion would rise. Fortunately, Kenny knew how to walk around the castle, and they managed to arrive at the kitchens in a fraction of the time it took Craig to walk to the tower.

Craig had told her; he told Kenny about Tweek. It was not because he trusted her or anything of that manner, but because he hoped she had information about him. Unfortunately, she did not.

At the loose window, as Craig pulled himself over, Kenny grasped his wrist. “I don’t know anything about your friend, but I’ll try to find something about him. You’ll find him, I know it. Just keep looking, and so will I.”

He simply nodded.

Kenny turned around to look at the door then turned back to Craig. “If I find anything, I’ll let you know, somehow. If you find anything, same thing. I don’t know how we’ll make it work, but we will. Good luck, Craig.”

She walked away from the kitchens, and Craig closed the window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY FOR THE WAIT. Been busy, and in my free time I'm binging GOT with the fam or reading like crazy. Gonna update less frequently, unfortunately, because work is a beech  
> FINALLY THEY MEET. FRICKEN FINALLY. How you mortals like it? Different from Stan and Kyle? Good? Bad? Let me know!  
> Weird description, but Kenny's room is kinda like a horseshoe/omega shape  
> Also, has anyone picked up on the language differences between this and Erendriel???? owo  
> As always, thank you for reading and take care uwu


	9. Chapter 9

He clutched his head in heavy hands, light his greatest foe. Cartman knew overindulging on alcohol was a terrible idea, but he could never control himself. He downed and downed countless goblets of wine, tankards of ale, and cups of mead. There was a sweetness in the bitter bliss of drinking, one that captivated him, holding him in its grasp for seemingly eternity.

Its end came with a terrible sickness that kept him in bed for the days that followed.

The servants attempted to refrain from entering his chambers, moving quicker than usual, and speaking less. They moved like miasmas: fast and silent, entering and leaving. In his chambers, they were simply servants that fulfilled their roles, taking small actions, and nothing more. Out in the castle, they let out a breath of relief, glad to be free of an overbearing and tedious ruler. There was no one to yell at them to move or fetch more refreshments, no one to clean up after, no one to keep their eyes averted from. In the kitchens, the halls, and rooms, servants dared to sing and dance. The guards continued patrolling, a smile on their lips at the sights and feign freedom. Though finite, the people at the castle relished in their small pleasures whenever they could.

Cartman would always find some way to punish them indirectly, for when he fell to the effects of alcohol, the few demands he gave were incredible. He demanded water for baths, water to drink, noises to be at a minimum, and scents to be killed. Everything angered him, sickened him, and he took his frustrations and feelings out on those around him.

He slammed a fist at an end table. 

“You, servant girl.” He had no idea who she was.

The woman had worked at the castle since her youth. She bowed low, a sign of giving Cartman her attention.

“Fetch me my mistress, and make it quick.”

She nodded then scurried out of the room. Running past the silent top floors, she entered the lively lower levels of the castle. Her follow servants nodded and smiled at her, all gestures returned earnestly. As she roamed through the corridors, she scanned the faces for Wendy, asking everyone if they had seen her. They all shook their head, claiming to have not seen her since the previous night.

The lower levels showed no signs of Wendy, and so she returned to one of the higher ones. Wendy’s room was one of the larger ones at the far end of the floor. She knocked, and a muffled response sounded from the other side.

Opening the door, she was met with Wendy seated at her desk, sipping on a cup of tea.

“Tammie, is that you?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“What can I do for you?”

“His majesty has sent for you.”

Wendy sighed and set her cup down. “I see. Did he tell you why?”

“No, my lady.”

Wendy looked Tammie up and down, who kept her eyes down.

“Very well. You’re dismissed.” She stood and walked out of her room, dark velvet dress trailing behind her. Kenny was not the only one that liked to dress in bold colors, though Wendy preferred the striking and dark shades.

As she walked and climbed the steps, clacking echoed through the stone walls. Whatever Cartman wanted, it could not be good. He was unbelievable, horrendous as a sober and well man. Whenever ill, his terrible nature increased by tenfold. Though Wendy had a good idea of what was waiting for her behind those twin doors and her chest tightened. She was a mistress, nothing more, and nothing less. Wendy did not fit with the nobles, and certainly not with the servants, though she served. She served the king in other ways, yet took no pleasure from it. Cartman—she dared think—disgusted her. He was a pig, a poor excuse of a king, and a heinous person.

Though none dared to overthrow him.

The nobles were comfortable and were the only ones who could dare stand up against him. They lived in bliss and pleasure, and thus let everything he did and said pass them. Though they had numbers, the common people would not be able to step foot onto castle grounds before getting slaughtered.

Yet, she found herself thankful, thankful to be treated like a noble, being granted a seat at their common meetings. It meant Cartman trusted her, and it meant her true role was being fulfilled.

Her parents had always told her she was born with a mind not befitting a woman. Men were the ones that needed to control their subjects, ruling over their lands, but Wendy had a mind meant for such. Her parents told her to hone her intelligence and use it to her advantage, and thus she did. Wendy slowly pulled herself out of her humble life, whispering into the ears of nobles, eventually finding herself in the castle. She made eyes at the king, acting as any brainless and pretty woman would. Cartman needed to like her, and though it took a lot of convincing, he eventually invited her into his chambers.

When she got the chance, she whispered in the ear of the king, slowly feeding him ideas to better the life in the Kingdom. Unlike the nobles, she knew what life outside of wealth could entail. Wendy did not hate the common people, nor did she care much about them. They simply existed. Of course, she would try to make their lives better, in some way, but she was no saint; she would not grant them the perfect lives they dreamt of.

Even if she could, she would not.

Greatness did not come from being born with a silver spoon, nor did it come from suffering the backhand of fate.

Greatness came from opportunity.

Wendy entered the king’s chambers without knocking, opening the doors effortlessly and closing them swiftly behind her.

“You called, your majesty?”

The curtains covered the windows, small cracks between them offering faint light. Cartman was sitting on his extravagant bed, looking at Wendy with bloodshot eyes.

“Come here.”

Wendy did as she was told.

“Sit.”

Wendy sat next to Cartman, but not close enough for their arms to touch.

“Anything I need to know?”

“No, your majesty. Everything is well in the castle.”

“Good. And Kenny?”

Wendy swallowed hard. “She is well.”

“What is she doing?”

“I don’t know, your majesty. What she does isn’t my concern.”

Cartman snorted. “She is my daughter and your princess. You should at least _act_ like you care.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

“Anything else?”

“There is, actually.” Wendy turned her head to look at Cartman. He was in no condition to rule, but that was not a new realization to her. “Few soldiers have been appointed within the Capital, guarding scholars at tables with rolls of paper. They’ve started taking names for the draft, your grace.”

Cartman chuckled, but it sounded more like the soft noises of a pig. “Good, good. When will they be sent off?”

“It’s hard to say, your majesty. There needs to be enough time for all the names to be gathered, and there needs to be time for multiple entries per person. The more time passes, the more will be written. The more food they get, the more likely they’ll be drafted.”

Cartman pat Wendy’s knee and rubbed her thigh. “Yes, yes. You take care of that. Just make sure it’s soon. Our soldiers at the front lines are getting killed by the—” he rubbed between his eyes, groaning. “Those fucking elves.”

Wendy bit her tongue, taking a moment to respond. No king should use such foul language. “Yes, your majesty.”

He groaned once more. “That reminds me, little lord Leopold was talking with Kenny last night.”

Wendy straightened her back. “Oh? This is news.”

“Yes. With our luck, he’ll want to be a suitor. When was the last time someone asked to court her?”

Wendy knew Kenny was the princess, and since Cartman had no other decedents, she was destined for the throne. Her husband would be deemed the new king once Cartman’s reign had ended, but Kenny would hold the most power. Everyone knew he would never step down, and so his reign would come at his death. The nobles and common people knew little of Kenny, but they adored her. She was their maiden princess, the golden heart of their kingdom. Everyone—including Wendy—hoped that when Kenny’s reign began, she would change the Kingdom for the better.

Even still, Wendy envied Kenny.

She knew she could never become queen, but she dreamed of sitting on the throne with her own crown. No longer would she need to sit in the shadows, whispering to deaf ears. She would have the power to do as she wished.

“It’s been a few years.”

“Right. Can’t let them start back up. Lord Leopold better not approach her again, or else things won’t end well. He’s an important part of our council, surprisingly. Losing him would be hard.”

Wendy bit her lip to keep from laughing. Lord Leopold was perhaps the most brainless of all the nobles. She doubted that it came from his age, though he was not much younger than her. Lord Leopold was rumored to have spent his youth drinking barrels upon barrels of wine. Perhaps in his drunken frenzy, he lost his mind. 

“Yes, of course, your majesty.”

“Did you take the herbs today?”

Her throat tightened. It was time. “Every day, your majesty.”

Cartman turned and lowered Wendy onto the bed, her black hair covering the sheets like an ink spill. “Good. I can’t have any bastards running around. Clyde probably has many.”

“Of course, your majesty.” Bile rose in her throat. She was the king’s mistress, and that was all he would ever see her as: a piece of flesh to be used for pleasure, and nothing more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry lovelies but finding time to write is a little hard, and school is starting in a few days. I have 19 units, service learning, and work... y i k e s   
> Upload schedule is TBD for now (same with Erendriel) I'll figure it out, but I hope you guys have patience with me omo  
> Also, yeah, I don't drink and thus have never been hungover. I asked my sister what it was like, so if it's inaccurate, then blame her lol  
> As always, thank you for reading and take care uwu


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erendriel Chapters 10 and 11

She wanted to get away from the castle life but knew her only escape would be in the gardens.

The gardens, her small sanctuary in the middle of the castle. Hardly anyone entered them, for all the servants were far too busy with their duties and nobles cared little for plants. Kenny had never seen anyone attend the gardens, but they were incredibly large and beautiful. She could spend hours on end in those gardens, where no one could find her.

Yet as she walked through the weaving, maze-like path towards the center—where the fountain and flowers were—she heard two familiar yet angry voices.

“I don’t need to hear your excuses.”

“Well pardon me for having obligations and a job to do.”

“I do, too, but I’m not completely ignoring you.”

“What—ripping off the nails of prisoners is disgusting and nothing compared to what I do. The draft started a few days ago, and I have to oversee _everything_ and organize it all. If you want someone to blame for that, it’s the king’s doll.”

“Shut it, cock sucker.”

“You’re one to talk!”

Kenny stepped into the clearing and saw Damien scowling deeply with his arms crossed over his chest, and Christophe glaring at the sky with his arms at his hips.

“Papa Christophe, Papa Damien. When was the last time the three of us were together?”

They both looked to Kenny, eyes wide with embarrassment. Though Damien quickly replaced his scowl.

“Sorry you had to hear that, princess.”

“Nonsense. You were only telling Papa Christophe how you felt: you feel neglected and ignored, which shows how much you love him.”

Damien scoffed and looked away.

Christophe’s face flushed, but his eyes twinkled with amusement.

Kenny could not help but smile at the sight before her. The two argued constantly, but she knew that was how they expressed their feelings towards one another. She also knew that they were incredibly intimate when they knew no one was watching or around them. Once, as a child, she saw them embracing, Christophe petting Damien’s wild mane as his shoulders shook. She later heard that a child had been executed that very morning.

“Did I hear you say there was a draft?”

Christophe nodded. “Indeed. The people of the city have their names taken when they get food. The king needs soldiers for the war.”

Damien scoffed once again, harsh air blowing through his teeth. “Then why doesn’t _his majesty_ do it himself? I don’t see why you have to shoulder his responsibilities. _You_ ’re practically the king.”

“Don’t let anyone hear you say that.” Christophe frowned. “I’m sure they’ll find someone to do your job to you.” He sighed. “But, it’s true; I’m the one supporting the Kingdom from behind the crown. I get no fame or recognition, only arguments with my beloved.”

Damien flushed, which Kenny had never seen him do.

Christophe folded his arms over his chest and smirked.

“Well, Papa Christophe, I only hope it gets easier for you.” Kenny could not begin to imagine what overseeing the draft meant. She imagined Christophe sitting alone in his room reading thousands of names by candlelight. Did he simply pick one and sent them on their way? How would they be able to find the person whose name was written? There were countless people in the city…

Her dimly lit room came to mind, as well as earth-brown eyes and a poorly concealed dagger.

“Thank you, my rose.”

“Papa Damien.” Kenny took a step towards him. “I have… a strange thing to ask.”

Damien sat at the fountain and crossed his legs, leaning slightly over the water. “Ask away.”

“How many prisoners are in the dungeon? What are their names?”

They stared at her, their expressions baffled and startled.

“Kenny, why—why are you asking this? A princess shouldn’t wonder about them, and she shouldn’t know about those criminals.”

“I—” if she lied, they would know. If she told the truth, they would worry. “I’m asking for a friend.”

“What kind of friend—”

“Please, papa.”

Damien watched her, brows furrowed, but he eventually signed and dropped his shoulders. “There are a few—maybe ten prisoners in the dungeon. I wouldn’t know their names. No one cares to ask, and they would never answer.”

Kenny felt Christophe’s eyes on her. “Can you ask them? I need to know if—”

“I torture them and execute them. I don’t ask them questions, but I’ll ask you one: why do you need to know this?”

She should have known asking Damien would get her nowhere, but it was the only thing she could think of. “This friend wanted to know if there was a pattern between prisoners and their names.”

“Some friend that is.”

“Well, another question was what they looked like.”

“What they _looked_ like?”

Kenny nodded. “Mostly their hair colors.” Craig had told Kenny that Tweek had blond hair that was lighter and brighter than hers.

“Let me guess—another pattern she wanted to know. Listen, Kenny, I don’t know who this friend of yours is, but I’m not too happy with what I’m hearing. Prisoners get their heads shaved and they’re stripped of everything the moment they’re put in the cell. They all look the same to me: terrified.”

“I agree. What friend is this?” Christophe walked up to them, his arms crossed.

“Someone I met at the banquet the other day.” It was not entirely a lie; she did meet Craig on the day of the banquet. “You won’t have to worry. I won’t be seeing her again.” Her tongue felt slightly numbed.

“Good, or else I’d have to take her down there and show her all this stuff she’s curious about.”

Christophe frowned but nodded approvingly.

Kenny bit her lip. She had to get word out to Craig somehow: she was no closer to finding any information on Tweek than before. What she had said earlier was true: she will not be seeing Craig again. Ever since their first encounter, she was unable to get him out of her mind. She wanted to see him again but knew it was for the best that they never did. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Domestic Damstophe. We stan. (Is that even their ship name?)  
> Got my schedule somewhat down, so hopefully expect more updates for this and later on Erendriel (for any of you also reading that, I want to catch this fic up by the next update. So, there's going to be a long time period before that, but I swear it's going to be worth it)  
> As always, thank you for reading and take care uwu


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erendriel chapters 10 and 11  
> Content Warning: Implied sexual acts, sex work/prostitution

Craig slammed his cup to the bar counter.

The princess had not left his mind since that night. He should have done the easy thing and killed her, but knew that would only cause more trouble.

So much for easy.

“Everything all right there?” Stoley asked.

“Fine. Got any leads?”

“None. You?”

“Same.”

Stoley sighed and poured more ale into Craig’s cup. “Ya know, there are some new jobs up. Why not take a look? I heard there are some high-end ones. Could get you closer to what you’re looking for.”

Craig tugged on his scarf, grunted, and pushed away from the counter. The board had more requests than usual, but they were of the typical class. His eyes quickly scanned each slip of parchment, until they landed on one in the upper right corner. He pulled on its end, reading the text over multiple times.

He could not remember the last time someone had requested something so grand. The contractor—who went by _H—_ wanted someone to infiltrate the Donovan Manor and take all the trade records of the Kingdom, including any involving future trade caravans. There were no details for the reason, but the contractor was willing to pay a large amount of gold for them. The Donovan Manor was the largest in the city, pertaining to his incredible wealth. One had to be incredibly reckless to accept such a task.

Incredibly reckless, or incredibly skilled.

The parchment tore crisply, evident of its freshness and quality. He had a few weeks to obtain the records, but he would use them to investigate the scene.

He left the guildhall silently and joined the rancid streets. Craig could not let the distraction of the princess fog his mind. He had to continue with his profession and provide for himself. Storming down the streets, he headed towards the Donovan Manor. It would be an incredibly long walk, but he could manage it.

Through the main street towards the hill, Craig saw many familiar things, like the children selling their dolls. That was the street that the king favored when he paraded through the city, for it was the widest and more ornate.

A howl of laughter surprised him. To his right, there was a building he fully knew but hated. Being mid-day, it was far from being as busy as nighttime. The smell hit him when someone opened the door and his stomach lurched. He did not want to be there, but the thought of golden hair pressed him.

They had agreed to contact one another in some way, did they not? Craig had to tell her to stop with the fruitless search. There was no way a princess would be able to discover anything, that was to say she was even looking. For all Craig knew, she baited him or completely forgot about their interaction.

Still, the thought ate at Craig. Against his better judgement, he walked into the building. Every nerve in his body fired, his muscles stiffening and his heart racing.

The smell was undoubtedly worse inside: sweat, semen, vomit, blood, alcohol, and an overpowering sweetness that attempted to cover it all. From the entrance, there was a long corridor, rooms on either side of it. Instead of doors, translucent cloth covered the openings, which did not offer much privacy. He heard women laughing, whispering, moaning, and crying. He heard men responding to every sound, furthering their movement.

Craig locked his eyes forward, but his chest felt as if it were to burst and his stomach was fighting to get out. The tips of his fingers were beginning to lose feeling, and his breathing was getting fast.

At the end of the corridor, there was a pit-like setting. Women were lounging on chairs and pillows, their breasts exposed and hair twirled. One of them stood, her messy red hair reaching below her waist.

“Hey sweet thing. First time? It’s okay, no need to be afraid. We’ll take good care of you.”

Craig wanted to push her away but knew better. Instead, he stepped sideways and continued to the back of the building, to a bar counter. He sat down at the empty bar. A woman with short, curly blonde hair eyed him, her brown shirt covering most of her torso.

“Well, well, well, never thought I’d see _you_ here, Mister Perfect Thief.”

“I need information.”

“Straight to the point, as always. My girls tell me everything. What do you need?”

“There’s a girl—”

“Wait— _just_ because I own a brothel doesn’t mean I know _everything_ about _every single_ girl. Did you really think that?” She had a hand at her hip. “Well? What’s the lucky girl’s name?”

“Kenny.”

She laughed. “That’s—”

“A boy’s name.”

“Well, yes, but that’s the name of the princess.”

Craig did not reply, simply stared the woman in her brown eyes.

“Oh, you want—well, now, this is new. Why the sudden interest? Don’t your kind hate all forms of authority?”

“Do you know anything about her or not, Annie?”

“Nothing. Don’t know why you’re asking, but I’d keep away from all of those royals. Ever since the queen died, things have gone to shit. They’re corrupt, boy. You don’t want anything to do with them.”

"So you can't help me get a message out?"

Annie's brows furrowed. "Of course not. Why would you ever want to?"

"Doesn't matter." He placed a silver coin on the counter, pushed it towards Annie, then rushed out of the brothel. Once outside, he allowed himself to breathe and regain the feeling in his hands. That proved to be a waste of time and silver. He continued his path towards the Donovan Manor, free of distractions.

* * *

The Donovan Manor did not have a gate or fence. Its high walls stood up over the pampered grass, windows splattered across its front. Though being one of the larger estates, Craig only saw two guards at the front doors.

He looked at the surrounding area casually. The other estates were far enough that he could survey it without wandering eyes. That was promising, but he first needed a place to hide. Unfortunately, the hill had no trees and there were no alleys he could camp at. Looking up, he realized how close the castle was to the Donovan Manor.

Kenny was in there, as well as any potential information on Tweek. He could go and investigate some more, but there was no way for him to disguise himself as before. He tried to shake the thoughts away, to focus on the task he had at hand, but failed. There was one way for him to infiltrate both the castle and the Donovan Manor, but there would be no way it could work.

With every coming day, his ideas became more reckless and idiotic. He had a job to do, one that would pay him handsomely and required his full attention, but finding Tweek was his own personal goal that pulled at his mind.

His feet started moving before he realized it. It was common knowledge that Lord Donovan often visited the castle to partake in meetings with the king, and being inside the castle might grant him some knowledge of his schedule. He could look for Tweek and learn more about his target, and if Kenny were there, then that might be favorable. But why would he do that? He hated the royals, hated those in power and wealth. Why would he put himself in a situation where he would be surrounded by them? Surveying the Donovan Manor required his full and undivided attention, there was no denying that, but he would be unable to do so during the day. The lack of coverage would alert the guards and his job would end in failure. He could be in the castle in the day and at the Donovan Manor at night.

He could do both, accomplish both tasks at hand.

Guards stopped him at the castle doors.

“I’m here for a job.”

“We got none. Scram.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Leave.”

There went his attempts to infiltrate the castle.

“Excuse me,” an accented voice called out. “What is this?”

“This one wants work.”

“I see. Is that true?” The man looked to Craig.

“That’s right, sir.”

“Dear boy, I am not a knight or sir.”

“My lord, then.”

He chuckled. “Very well. Follow me, and we’ll see if we have anything for you.”

Craig tugged on his scarf and followed the man through the castle doors, finding himself once again guided through the dark and winding halls.

End of Act II, Encounter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Ze Mole voice* You need to stop tinking wiz your deek, Craig!   
> I feel like this chapter went by really fast. Did it go by really fast, or did I just read it quickly? 
> 
> Yes, finally the end of Act II! We're getting real close to catching up! Let's gooooo (Not to mention the first four or so chapters of Erendriel go together, so ya)
> 
> Also, yes. The brothel is Raisins ahahaha  
> Thank you all for reading and take care uwu


	12. Act III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erendriel chapter 12

He knew it was a bad idea at the time, but as he stepped through the castle gates, he thought back on the regrets he had that first night, the emotions like the ones he there felt. The man that spoke with him was the king’s advisor, Christophe. He had informed Craig that there were few positions within the castle, but eventually found something for Craig to do.

It would be a minor position, he claimed, but Craig would be free to live within the castle if he chose to, even if it meant staying only once. Craig thanked him but refused the offer, though there would always be an empty cot waiting for him. A minor position, he claimed, but one that Craig had no knowledge of. He pulled on his scarf, walking through the long halls once more, Fortunately, Christophe had given him direction, and there were servants walking around to assist him.

Craig knew better than to let himself get distracted. He had multiple tasks at hand: blend in with the castle servants _just_ enough to obtain any information on his priorities: Tweek and the Donovan Manor. It would take some time, but he needed to hurry: his client would not wait forever.

The hall opened to a large outdoor scenery, the wind blowing coldly yet elegantly in the confined space. Before him grew plants of colors he had never seen: red, orange, pink, and blue. Tall hedges and bushes formed walls and walkways, golden gravel forming winding paths that mirrored the castle halls and Capital streets.

Standing there, his chest fluttered in the slightest. He was to be the one to care for the plants, watering them, cutting them, cleaning their discarded leaves.

A minor and simple position.

He took a step forward and entered the maze-like garden. His eyes scanned the flowers and vegetation that surrounded him. For not having a designated gardener, it looked beautiful and well-kept. He hoped he would not taint its beauty.

With every step, the gravel crunched and gave way, making far too much noise than Craig was comfortable with. At least he had no need to worry, for he was alone in the garden, or so he thought.

Faint voices were carried with the breeze, distorted with the words lost. Craig stopped, waited until he was sure where they came from, and continued as slowly and quietly as he could. With every step, he cursed the gravel. It proved to be a nuisance, both making far too much noise and somehow finding a home within his shoes. His fingers twitched towards his hip where he had a dagger. None would question a gardener with a dagger or other sharp tools, a believable ruse.

Turning a final corner, Craig was faced with yet another clearing where fountains, benches, and more flowers than in the maze decorated the vacant center.

Christophe stood there, his eyes darting to Craig, then smiled. “Well, there he is! Our new gardener. I was beginning to think you were lost.”

“No. Just took my time looking around.”

Christophe nodded, then looked to his right.

Golden hair and purple cloth flowed in the slight breeze, sky-blue eyes peering into him.

Craig swallowed harshly, the gravel in his shoes the least of his worries. That greatly complicated things.

“May I introduce to you the gem of the Kingdom, the golden maiden of the castle, first and only born of King Eric Theodore Cartman, and first of her name, Princess Kenny Caitlin Cartman.” Christophe held out a hand and bowed slowly.

Kenny stepped forward, a purple veil covering her expression, but her shining eyes held excitement and surprise.

Craig looked between Kenny and Christophe, unsure of what to do. When Christophe gave him a strange look, he went to his knees. “Your—” he barely knew what to address knights and the people of the castle, less so for the nobles and people in power, and did not have the faintest idea how to address royalty. Was it different for men and women? Based on age? Position? How beautiful they were? He had no idea what to say and went with the first thing that came to mind. “—excellency.”

A stifled giggle rang from behind the veil. Kenny reached a gentle hand out in front of Craig.

He stared at it, then up at Kenny.

Kenny furrowed her brows, then gestured stiffly to Craig and her hand. She hoped Christophe had not seen that small exchange.

Craig eventually understood, placed a hand at Kenny’s palm, then brought her hand towards his lips, but did not kiss it. He hoped the act was convincing enough to fool Christophe.

Kenny pulled away and took a few steps back, and Craig stood slowly. They hoped their uncomfortable and awkward actions would look like unease due to just meeting to Christophe.

“Your highness,” Christophe started, “This is Craig.”

Kenny tilted her head in the slightest. “Just Craig? What about your family name?”

Craig bit his tongue. “Is it important?”

Kenny smirked. “Not exactly. I just want to know.” 

“Stevens,” he said, then added “Your highness.”

Christophe stepped forward. “Stevens, you say? I believe there is a lowly noble family with that same name.”

“This is news to me,” he said, then added, “My lord.”

Kenny’s eyes twinkled with amusement. When she saw Craig step into the clearing, she was at a loss for words. She could not believe he stood there in front of her, so close and conspicuous. Christophe had told her he found a gardener to take care of her garden, but she would have never thought that Craig would take the position. She was to send word out to Craig that night, the letter waiting in her room, but there he was, in the flesh.

“Interesting. Well, I would love to stay and chat, but I must be going.” Christophe looked at the two younger people. “I trust all will be safe and well?”

“Of course, Christophe. You have my word.” Kenny smiled and hoped Christophe noticed.

Craig simply nodded, keeping his gaze somewhat averted.

Christophe snickered. “All right. Be safe, your highness. Craig.” They exchanged a nod before Christophe walked out of the garden. 

When she was sure Christophe had gone and could no longer hear them, Kenny grabbed Craig’s arms. “What are you doing here?” Her voice came out harsh and urgent.

Craig pushed her hands away and forced himself out of her grip. “What am _I_ doing here? What are _you_ doing here? Aren’t princesses supposed to be bathing in gold and having their hair washed with honey?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything about you royal-types, but I know you’re not supposed to be in a dirty garden.”

“It isn’t dirty and it’s your job to see to that, thief who is now a gardener.”

Craig groaned. “If your crown isn’t on too tight, use that royal head of yours to think about it.”

“You dare speak to me that way? We are in my castle, and voices carry with the wind.” She snickered.

“Fine. Think about it, _your highness.”_ He shook his head. “I’m here for two reasons. You already know one.”

“Your comrade, Tweek. We need to talk about him. What’s the other reason?”

“I’m a thief, princess. This day job as a gardener won’t change that.” He looked at her. “Did you find anything?”

Kenny pulled on one of her loose braids. “I asked around, asked someone who would know, but didn’t find anything.” She looked into Craig’s earth brown eyes. “I’m really sorry.”

“No, don’t be. I won’t stop until I find _something._ I at least owe Tweek that much.”

Kenny nodded slowly but firmly. “And I’ll help in any way I can.”

Craig looked at her, confused and unable to understand her. A princess willing to help a lowly thief posing as a gardener to find his friend? No one would ever believe it.

“You’re on one of your thieving jobs? Is it here? Sorry to say that I caught you and will have to turn you in.”

He scoffed. “No, not here, but close.”

“How close?”

“Close.”

Kenny frowned and tapped her foot. “Tell me where.”

“No.”

The tapping stopped. “I demand you to tell me.”

Craig glared at her, held up his hands, and took a step back. “Your demands mean nothing to me.”

Kenny rolled her eyes, turned away from Craig, then laughed. “Is this how all your kind are?”

“‘ _My kind?’”_

“You thieving types. All sneaky and ‘I hate authority so I’m taking whatever I want’ or however your principles go.” Her gaze returned to him.

Craig shook his head, a faint smile on his lips. “No, princess. It’s not just ‘my kind’ that are like that; I just get paid doing it.”

“I see.” Kenny trailed off and looked into the distance. “I hope I can change that.”

“You? Change that?”

“Yes.” She looked Craig in the eye. “Things will change once I become queen.”

Craig was taken aback. He did not know what Kenny meant exactly but knew it was something different from what has been. Everyone expected the royals to keep things as they were and expected the nobles to do the same. Why should they care about the common-born people when they were comfortable and thriving? They should not, but he had the feeling that Kenny did. He remembered the dolls in her room and how there were many, and would be shocked to find any in a noble household. Perhaps she was different from the other corrupt nobles. He was not sure, nor did he know the reason behind it, but he hoped she was different.

Craig wanted to see what Kenny would do to change the Kingdom and wanted to believe that she could.

“If you say so, but no one believes lies.”

“Who said they were lies?”

"They're lies until they become truth." 

She contemplated for a moment. “I’ll have to prove you wrong and make you the liar, then.”

“Whatever you say, princess.” He turned and walked the perimeter of the clearing, scanning for any signs of misplaced leaves or branches that needed to be cut.

Kenny followed behind him. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

“See something on the floor, pick it up. See something sticking out, cut it off. See something dying, get rid of it or make it better.”

“I’m sure it’s much more complicated than that.”

“That’s all I know, so that’s what I’m doing.”

“If you ruin my garden, you won’t hear the end of it.”

Craig stifled a groan. The high-born people and their possessiveness, claiming everything is theirs and belongs to them, threatening consequences with every inconvenience. “Whatever you say, princess,” he repeated simply.

After a moment of silence, Kenny spoke up. “I have to go. Don’t steal anything, and try to not get lost again.” She chuckled. If it were up to her, she would stay with Craig the entire time he was at the castle, to make sure he kept his hands away from things and to spend time with him. However, she had planned to spend the afternoon with Wendy to discuss lady etiquette and the like.

“I won’t.”

“Will you be here every day?”

“Seems like it, but not all day.”

“Same time tomorrow?”

“Yes.” 

“I’ll see you then, flower thief.” With that, she strode out of the garden.

Craig shook his head with a scoff. He knew coming into the castle was a bargain, and had expected to see Kenny sparingly, but being with her daily was not part of his plans. She was very talkative and unpredictable, a gentle surprise and soft relief from the hardships he endured frequently. Taking his mind off things in the garden and talking with Kenny did not sound like a terrible thing, and—though he would never admit this to her—he was awaiting their future encounters with only the flowers as their witnesses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As with Erendriel, thus begins the shift of things. Now we have an excuse to have Crenny! They literally share one brain cell, lads.  
> Kenny's middle name is Caitlin because that was the name of the voice actress that came out in the Black Friday trilogy! Ya it's weird having her be a Cartman but that's just how it works (Likewise, Craig's name is Craig Tucker Stevens I guess)  
> Also, anyone catch the Erendriel chapter 13 parallel? The lines regarding lies and truth, hou hou~  
> As always, thank you for reading and take care uwu


	13. Chapter 13

Another goblet of wine downed, the howl of laughter echoing in the room. Cartman snickered at a crude comment made by Clyde, enjoying the noble’s company for once. Wendy giggled into her hand, his intelligent mistress. It almost surprised him that she had found his comment amusing.

“What are we doing here, again?” Phillip managed to ask after his laughing fit had settled.

“What we always do, Pip: ruling an entire kingdom,” said Cartman.

“How is that draft going?” Leopold asked.

Wendy looked to Cartman for permission, who nodded. “It’s going very well. We have sent dozens of common-born to the first lines in a matter of days. Once the news spreads to the other towns, villages, and cities, our army will be at least ten times larger than Erendriel’s.”

“Oh, goodie.” Leopold smiled. “I’m really getting tired of this here war. It’s been going on for far too long.”

“Five years, to be exact,” said Bradley. “But who’s counting?”

“Clyde obviously isn’t.”

Another wave of laughter, Clyde included in the outburst.

“I forgot who oversaw the draft. Surely it isn’t you, your majesty.” Phillip lifted his cup to his lips.

Cartman shook his head. “Of course not. Why would I trouble myself with anything regarding the common-born? Or anything so tedious? No, it’s my advisor Christophe that is handling it.”

Phillip hummed. “Christophe, you say? Why isn’t he here with us? Isn’t he a noble? And he has such an important role in this and other things.”

“He isn’t like us.” Cartman frowned, knowing they have had that conversation before. “He may be from a noble family, but he was not raised to be a lord. The only reason why he’s here in the castle is because he was the younger brother of my queen.” He swallowed a large mouthful of wine. 

There was silence, the only sound was of Cartman slamming his goblet on the table.

“Forgive me, your majesty.” Phillip’s voice was low.

“Whatever, Pip.”

Another stretch of silence followed, the nobility shifting anxiously in their chairs.

Wendy looked at everyone’s face, except Cartman. “He’d be nothing if it weren’t for you, your majesty. He might still be wandering in the wilderness like an elf.” She shook her head, clicking her tongue. “But I’d be lying if I said he wasn’t good at his job.”

Leopold clapped. “We should figure out a way to thank him.”

“We feed him, clothe him, give him shelter, work, and invite him to our banquets. Is that not enough?” Cartman tapped his fingers against the tabletop.

“Those are hardly ways to show gratitude,” Bradley said. “We should gift him some wine and a necklace for his wife.”

Wendy twirled a loose strand of her hair. “Christophe isn’t married.” 

“Only wine, then.”

“Do what you want.” Cartman groaned.

While the nobility chatted casually at the table, Cartman picked up his goblet, moved it in a circular motion, and watched the wine swirl within it. His burgundy reflection stared back at him, jaded and distasteful. Any conversation regarding the queen brought bile to his throat and dried out his mouth. She has been dead for over twenty-five years but somehow managed to find her way into their conversations. He did not hate Christophe for being related to her and found him to be a decent and loyal man, but he hated that talk of him often led to talk of the queen.

 _His_ queen.

A knock sounded from the door, silencing all voices, and turning their attention towards the sound.

“Your majesty,” called a messenger boy. “We just received word from the frontlines.”

“Come deliver it to me.”

A single door opened slowly, hesitantly. A young boy peeked over its edge, scanning the room and its inhabitants, before stepping inside. He kept his gaze lowered but made his way to Cartman’s side, where he bowed deeply and held a scroll above his head.

Cartman took the scroll and waved his hand, dismissing the boy who nearly ran out of the room. The paper was weathered, dirt staining its edges. Quickly did he unroll it, feeling every gaze on him as he read the contents. Since they had just sent draftees to the front lines, he had assumed the message was pertaining to that. 

“What great timing.” He felt his lips tilt into a smile as he read and reread the message. Once he was sure the message was burned into his mind, he threw the message into the fireplace behind him.

“A-are you going to tell us what it said?” Leopold tapped his fingers together as he spoke. 

Cartman chuckled. “They simply thanked us for the soldiers.”

“You had to burn the message for that?” Clyde leaned in as he asked.

“Of course. I can’t have secret documents regarding our armies lying around. What if there’s an elven spy here?”

“An elven spy? Oh, dear!” Leopold hid behind his hands.

“There is no way an elf could be here or an elven spy. We’d notice their—” Clyde held up his index fingers and curled them above his ears. “Pointed ears.”

“I don’t know. Maybe _you’re_ a spy, and that’s why you’re so wealthy.” Wendy smirked.

“Hey, I earned my wealth fairly!”

“Of course, of course. Whatever you say, elf man.”

The laughter resumed when Clyde’s ears turned bright red. They all knew there could not be anyone with Erendriel within the Kingdom, and if there were, it would never be Clyde. Cartman knew it as well. He knew the elves would not go against their supposed honor and strike in such a lowly manner. If he had to grant the elves anything, it was that they fought and acted with pride and honesty. Even still, they had stolen from him, taking with them something that could never be returned. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Papa's on a role owo Suddenly finding myself with more time so I'm writing more, weeeee  
> Cartman chapters will tend to be short, but they're necessary :P  
> As always, thank you for reading and take care uwu


	14. Chapter 14

_Stifle your breath, hold still, become invisible to the world._

He thanked the cloudy and moonless night for aiding him in his endeavors to disappear. It made walking up to the manor a simple task. With no trees to hide behind, Craig was forced to walk onto the manor land, settling directly in front of the doors. For such an important job, he was uncomfortable being settled directly in front of the manor’s only guards.

Lord Donovan was an idiot for only having two guards.

Though, it made his job easier: he did not have to fear being discovered and did not have to memorize their patrol routes and schedules. From time to time, the guards were switched out, but even that eventually became predictable.

Near the entrance, there were bushes and fountains scattered over the grand yard. Craig groaned as a branch stabbed him in the ear. For someone that barely thought about plants, his life was suddenly full of them.

His mind took the realization as a signal to wander, to think of the princess. Craig pinched his arm, drawing his straying thoughts back.

He needed to focus.

From his hidden spot in the bushes, he scanned the front of the manor. Searching it would take days, if not weeks. He did not have that time, and could not risk leisurely waltzing into the building. Just because there were only two guards at the doors did not mean the inside was vacant: there could be other guards, and there were surely servants and the noble himself. One false move would mean his death, and Craig rather liked living.

There had to be a way for him to infiltrate from the inside safely. If he had not taken the job as a gardener in the castle, perhaps he could have gone to the Donovan manor for work. Craig bit his tongue. Though it was a good idea, he knew it would never work. His face would be known and suspicious would be etched onto it.

He pulled on his scarf. There was also the option of finding someone that worked within the manor and getting the information from them, but that would still involve far too much contact with the target and his affiliates. He needed an opening, a safe and carved path that would allow him to get what he needed.

A click of the tongue and he yanked the scarf from his face only to replace it tighter than before. He had been watching the manor for days, and enough was enough. Slowly, he crept out of the bushes. The guards had torches burning at the doors, but their light would never touch him. He went to his right, out of the torches’ reach, then to the manor windows. Little light shone from the inside, but it was enough for him to see the rich carpet and overly adorned walls. Who in their right mind had dozens of clocks on a single wall?

Continuing along the perimeter and peeking inside windows, Craig managed to get a good idea of the manor’s first floor. There were doors lining all of the interior wall, the rooms behind them small for a noble’s standards. Craig assumed they were closets and rooms for the servants.

No one roamed the halls.

Even still, he did not taunt faith.

A few more days and he might tease it, but not that night.

Standing at the back of the manor after his third rotation, he looked up to the manor’s top floor. Two floors were more than he was used to, but still nothing compared to the castle. Without stepping foot inside, he knew his target would be in one of the higher rooms. If the lower level were primarily for the servants’ uses, then the important and noble matters would be held higher.

Lord Donovan would not be the only one hiding something out of reach.

_The princess._

Craig punched his thigh and continued his patrol.

She threatened to turn him in for stealing. What a joke. She had no proof of anything. Though, she was a princess, and her word overturns logic and reasoning. Craig swallowed harshly. With the wave of her hand, she could have sent him to the dungeons.

That would not be ideal.

If he kept thinking about her and getting distracted, he would definitely be thrown in the dungeons.

As he reached the corner, he heard voices and froze.

“You sure you heard something over here?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t hear nothing.”

“Go check it out.”

“No, you, since you heard it.”

“You’re such a coward.”

“Says the one afraid of night duty.”

Craig was sure he made no noises, but it was too late. The idiot would turn the corner, see him, alert the other idiot, and then kill him. If it were one guard, Craig might have stood a chance, but two would be pushing it. What an idiot, he thought of himself. What idiots, he thought of the guards. He had no time to think or react but had to do the latter. His thoughts weighed him down and froze his limps.

_Move, idiot, move._

The torchlight grew brighter, footsteps louder.

_Move!_

Craig ran to his right, a short distance from the manor, where the hill dropped into a ditch covered with bushes. Before diving into the leaves, he sprinted as far away from the light as he could.

“Ya see anything?” One voice echoed

“Nope.” Closer, but still echoing.

“Come on, then.”

“Let me check a little more.”

Craig stifled his breath and held still. He hoped the guard would not think to check the bushes. They were far, but still too close. His hand itched and tingled with the need to grab his dagger, but he kept still. The torchlight grew brighter, nearly directly above Craig. Footsteps grew louder, the clank of armor and a sword piercing through the night.

Then it stopped.

“You’re right. There’s nothing.”

If the guard looked to his left, he would have spotted Craig, but he turned around and returned to his companion.

“Told you. Say, you think it was a good idea for us to leave our post?”

“What would’ve happened? Someone gonna walk in through the front doors in the middle of the night?”

Their laughter faded with distance.

Craig finally released his breath and relaxed his muscles. Such an encounter was still easier than one with a platoon of guards.

The last comment the guard made had him thinking. Would it really be that easy? To simply walk in the front doors while they were away. There was no way that could ever work. Or could it? He had surveyed the lower level a few times, albeit on a single night, but he could manage to sneak through those halls. If his time ran short, he would have no choice but to attempt that.

He stood slowly and climbed out of the ditch. If Kenny had seen him, she would have laughed at him the entire night. A soft smile crept on his lips. She would have liked to see something like that.

Brushing leaves and dirt off his clothes, he looked to the sky and saw the faintest traces of light bleeding into the darkness. Craig clicked his tongue and started towards the main city. It would not be long until he had to return to the top of the hill and handle more plants, flowers, and Kenny herself.

He let out a single chuckle, then heard movement and stopped. Quickly scanning his surroundings, he did not see the light of a torch, but that did not stop his pounding heart. Without thinking, he held his breath and gripped his dagger. He did not move for several moments until he heard a squeak.

Two rats ran out of the bushes and towards the Donovan manor. 

With that, he allowed himself to laugh quietly in the moonless night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this now because I know Sk8 is gonna destroy me tomorrow, in either a good way or a bad way, but I'm so ready. 
> 
> We stan thiefy Craig owo Not much happened, but we still stan. I promise we will get badassery soon. Be patient, my children.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and take care uwu


	15. Chapter 15

Kenny walked out of the dining hall, leaving Wendy and Cartman to discuss their own matters. She could care less about what they spoke about, which was usually noble gossip, and would much rather spend her afternoon doing something productive.

With the sun low in the sky, she walked through the familiar halls into a nearly empty wing. If Craig were still in the castle, they might be able to have some privacy there. She felt a smile tug at her lips. Somehow, he was surviving his brief intervals of the castle life. Kenny would have thought he would have given up, tried to steal something, then run into the city, never to be seen again. It brought her joy to know he was still there, be it sparingly and for a short while.

She pushed a small wooden door open, dust scattering through the air. It opened to an even dustier room filled with shelves and books. Little light filtered through the murky windows, the forgotten library drenched in an eerie light. Kenny was thankful for her veil, for the smell must have been suffocating.

It had been months since she visited, years since another had stepped foot in there. If she wanted to find something, she had no one to ask and had no way of remembering where anything was stored. All the shelves looked the same and the books and parchment were too similar. She sighed and started walking through the makeshift halls.

Leather-bound books with engraved titles covered every shelf, rising and falling with height. A thick layer of dust covered their tops, the shelves, and seeped into the pages. The sight brought Kenny a sort of sadness, a melancholy that such rich histories and tales lay forgotten in an abandoned room.

Her fingers grazed a book she was familiar with, a collection of elven stories. That particular volume had been a gift to her from the former King Erendriel. She had been ecstatic upon receiving it, but Cartman had taken it from her and threw it into the library. Christophe had somehow found it months later and read it to her. She still remembered the painted words and images that were carried by his voice. Forests of gleaming emerald, night skies weaved with dazzling sapphires, festivals driven by ecstasy.

Kenny wondered how much of it was fiction and how much of it was truth.

Life in the Kingdom was the complete opposite. There were hardly any forests, for hills and mountains sustained the terrain, and the trees she had seen looked ordinary. Night skies were dim and murky, covered with clouds and taking on a strange green tint when the moon shone brightly. Festivals were a rare occurrence, and she had no memories of any taking place in the Capital.

Beside that book stood a row of familiar leather journals: Christophe’s journals. Kenny smiled to herself, glad that Christophe had complied with her constant pleading of considering them books. He had said they had no worth or importance, but she had insisted they were literary masterpieces.

Kenny would have to tease him about it the next time she saw him.

She continued her search, eventually finding the former letters from King Erendriel. The elven script mimicked the curves of leaves and branches: beautiful to look at, but difficult to read. Fortunately, she had trained her eyes to read the difficult script, saving the ability for their future relations. She doubted Cartman had the skill to read anything written by the elves, not that he cared to give them the attention. His hatred for them made no sense to Kenny, but it seemed to seep and bleed from the crown and into the crowd.

If things went well, the war ended on peaceful terms, and an alliance was formed, would the citizens of the Kingdom still hate Erendriel?

Kenny hoped not.

Against the back wall was a black book with golden borders. She pulled it out of the shelf, dust flying through the air, and opened it. The backing of the book cracked, dust spilling out and pages crinkling in the air, their edges already corroding and becoming yellowed.

_Families of Nobility and the Highborn._

Kenny ran her fingers over the title, such an interesting find.

With careful ease, she turned the pages, flipping through them and scanning the contents. The families were categorized by status, starting with the Cartmans, and went down to the lower nobility. Within each category, the families were sorted alphabetically. She saw her father’s name, her mother’s, and her own on the first page. Several pages down, she found the DeLorne family, Christophe and her mother the last recorded names.

Kenny wondered if the DeLorne family would end with Christophe. He would bear no children, and there were no other DeLornes left. An unfortunate fate for such an esteemed noble family.

Continuing through the book, she found the Donovans, Biggles, Stotchs, Pirrips, and Donnelys.

Poor Lord Donnely, murdered by his own people.

Her thoughts went back to the last conversation she had of him. Blinking, she flipped quickly through the pages. Names came and went, forgotten the moment she flipped the page. There had to be something, for even Christophe commented on it.

Near the end of the book, she found it.

The Stevens family.

Christophe had been wrong, for they were not a noble family, nor one particularly wealthy, but they had supplied the Kingdom with one of important commodity: shoes. The family had a large workshop to the south and were the main providers of shoes for the nobility. Why they were in that book, Kenny had not the faintest idea, but she disregarded the mistake and read through the names. There were many members in the family, all of which had many children. Shoe-making must involve a lot of members, Kenny thought. Having not been touched in years, the names were suddenly cut off, and one had been crossed out.

Kenny squinted and brought the book closer. She could barely make out the name: Bebe Stevens, the only daughter in the longest branch. If she had died, her name would have not been crossed out in such a way. What could have happened to have her name crossed out?

She realized Craig held the Stevens name. Did that mean his father was a Stevens? They had never talked of Craig’s lineage, but the curiosity made Kenny’s fingers tingle and heart beat quickly.

Closing the book and replacing it, she decided to ask him the next time she saw him. Though, his lineage and family hardly mattered in the grand scheme of things: he was common-born, a high common-born at best, but nothing more. She was a princess, the highest-born in the entire kingdom. They could have their fun and their games, chat by the flowers and forget the world for a moment, but ultimately there could be no more than that.

A lowly thief and a princess.

No one would ever believe it.

Kenny let out a low chuckle that died at her lips.

They were getting far too familiar with one another, which would only cause them both pain. Even if she became queen, with all the power in the Kingdom, she could never hope to have him. The nobles would retaliate, declaring her unfit to rule.

She stopped herself. What did those thoughts mean? Did she truly consider Craig to be a worthy suitor? All nobles that tried ultimately fell flat, trying far too hard to impress her but only made themselves look like fools. Brainless nobles, the lot of them. Mouth breathers fed with a silver spoon. Though she was not much different, she used her mind and thought about things beyond herself and the immediate possessions around her.

Craig—he was different. He had given no attempts to impress her and simply acted and reacted. His brutal honesty and failure to sweeten the truth attracted Kenny.

If only he were high-born, a lord with noble blood coursing through his veins, but there was no chance for that. He lived in the city streets, stealing for a living. No one of noble blood would dare dirty and taints their hands in such a way.

Such was the cruel way of life in the Kingdom, bound by blood and social ranking, and no amount of power could ever hope to change that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kenny: I don't wanna deal with gossip  
> Also Kenny: getting the tea on Craig
> 
> まだまだ、皆さん！ There are four more chapters left until we catch up to Erendriel! 一所懸命がんばります！Speaking of, compare this library to that library 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and take care uwu


	16. Chapter 16

“I already told you! These roses are the most beautiful.” Kenny twirled an orange and pink rose in her gloved hands. It spun one way, then the other, repeating endlessly, the petals and leaves appearing to dance in front of her.

“That doesn’t make sense. Why are they two colors? Just pick one.” Craig cut the head of a formerly red rose. It fell gracefully from its perch, the petals curling in his tight fist.

“You’re mad because this rose is more beautiful and colorful than you.”

“Oh, yes. I’m so jealous of a plant.” He tossed the cut rose into a bucket, forgetting it once out of sight.

“I’ve heard the elves worship them.”

“What, plants? That makes less sense than your flowers. They’re literally just plants.”

“They’re not like the plants here.” Kenny walked to a bench and sat on it, her eyes never leaving Craig as he tended to the roses.

“Plants are plants, princess.” He cut another flower, one that had no petals left.

“Have you _been_ to Erendriel?” She leaned forward, the spinning rose at her bosom.

“Haven’t even left the city.” The deeper into the bushes he looked, the worse condition the flowers seemed to be in.

“Then you can’t say anything!” Her grip subconsciously tightened on the rose, its movement halted and stem bending.

“Have _you_ been to Erendriel?” He yanked out a hidden weed, its roots dripping soil over the roses. Again he tossed it into a bucket.

“Well, no, but—”

“Then you can’t say anything either.” He gave his best attempt to brush the soil from the roses without destroying them.

Kenny scoffed and threw her rose at Craig’s head. Upon impact, the bud dissolved, and the petals were scattered, dressing the gravel—and Craig—with orange and pink. 

Craig turned to Kenny, his eyes narrowed and brows drawn. “Why did you do that? Now I have to clean it.”

“Oh, would you look at that? The thief is at the mercy of none other than a plant. Look how he slaves away under its great power.” Kenny giggled loudly.

“Have your laugh, princess. Keep picking and throwing all the roses and you won’t have any left. Then we’ll see who’s laughing.” He picked at the discarded petals, piling them in his palm before dumping them into the bucket.

“You still won’t, because you will have no purpose or job within the castle.” She picked up a petal near her foot, held it in front of her face, and twirled it in the same way she did the rose.

“Stop using your royal education to insult me.”

“I’m not insulting you! If I hadn’t known any better, I would have assumed you to be the maiden and princess. Grow thicker skin, flower thief. You have no armor to protect you.” Kenny stood and placed the petal into the bucket.

“Very funny, dirty princess.” Craig stood and stretched his legs and back. With every move, his bones cracked and readjusted themselves.

“You are very loud for a thief.”

“Once again, very funny.” Craig could not help the smile that tugged at his lips.

Kenny’s eyes brightened. “Got any stories for me?”

“Stories?” Craig picked up the bucket and walked to the other side of the clearing. “What kind of stories? The ones where I cut myself on a thorn?”

“No, no. Those hardly interest me. I want to know the true and raw things: tell me about your thief jobs.”

Craig dropped the bucket and squatted, resuming his examination. “It’s wonderful. I do exactly what I’m doing now, sit and look.”

“That can’t be it! What about the chasing and the fighting?” Kenny plopped onto another bench.

“All fiction, princess. You really think a single thief can outrun that many people? Besides, it’s a lot harder and simpler than it looks. I have to find out _what_ is going on at the place before I go inside. I’m not a moron that runs into an unknown place with no plan.”

“Such a shame. I was hoping you’d enlighten me on your dirty work.”

“ _This_ —” He pulled out another weed. “Is my dirty work.”

Kenny beamed, enjoying their strange but pleasant bickering. “And of your family?”

“Don’t have one.” He clapped his hands to remove the piling dirt on them.

“Right, but you must have had one at some point.” She blinked harshly, specks of dirt filling the air.

“There was just my ma then Tweek, no one else.” The gravel crunched under his feet as he shifted.

“Tell me about your mother.”

“What’s there to tell? She died when I was young.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Mine did as well.” Kenny looked at her shoes.

“Yeah, well, it’s a normal thing out in the city. You wouldn’t know about it, sealed up in this perfect castle.”

“But I know other things.”

“Yeah? With your royal education?”

“Why do you keep saying that?”

Craig turned to look at Kenny. “Only you highborn can read and write and do all the thinking in the Kingdom. Us common-born can’t, your _highness._ ”

Kenny stared down at Craig. “I didn’t know that.”

“Of course you didn’t. Why would you?”

“Does that mean you can’t read or write either? I was going to send you a letter once—”

“I’m different.”

“How so?”

“I had someone to teach me that stuff, my ma. I can read all right, but the words don’t come out nicely when I write them.” Craig turned back to the flowers, giving them one last inspection.

“And who taught her?”

“Her family.”

Kenny looked at the side of Craig’s face, how concentrated and entranced he looked when tending the gardens. He had not looked that way when he first arrived at the castle.

“Her name was Bebe.”

Craig’s expression fell, and he turned to look at Kenny. “How do you know that?” His voice lacked emotion, but his slightly widened eyes held his shock.

Kenny bit her tongue. “I was in the library and found a book on highborn families. The Stevens were in there, even though they weren’t highborn. They made shoes for nobles, and her name was crossed out.”

Craig clicked his tongue and stood, turning his back on Kenny. “Not surprised.”

“I’m sorry if—”

Craig spun on his heels and faced Kenny. “Since you want to know, my ma left her home because she wanted more in life. She came here hoping to find it but was forced to work as a prostitute because _that_ is all a woman can do out there in the streets. Through that, I was made. Go ahead, mock me for being a thief and a bastard. I’ve experienced worse.”

Kenny had no words, staring at Craig as his breath came out heavy and his brows were furrowed further.

Before she could respond, a mop of black hair came into view.

“Well, now, what do we have here?”

Craig turned around then stood.

Kenny stood. “Damien. We were just talking about thorns.” 

Damien chuckled. “For my namesake or for my pestering nature?” He bowed at Kenny’s feet and kissed her hand. “It’s always a pleasure to spoken of by my princess.” When he stood, he looked Craig dead in the eye, hardly standing taller than him. “And who might you be?”

“Craig, sir.”

“I’m not a sir.”

“My lord, then.”

“Dearest no! I could never hope to be one of those pretty little imbeciles.”

“Damien has no rank.”

Craig looked to Kenny then back to Damien.

“Alas, my princess speaks the honest truth.” Damien looked Craig up and down, noticing the bucket behind him. “It seems we are one and the same, _Craig.”_

“Seems so.” Craig’s fingers twitched. Damien’s dark hair and pale skin brought him unease, but his eyes and presence frightened him.

“Papa, you’re scaring him.”

_Papa?_

“My apologies, princess. I can’t help it.”

Kenny walked up to Craig. “He spends most of his time in the dungeon, torturing and executing the prisoners.” She did not bat an eye as she spoke, her voice calm and nonchalant.

Craig turned to Kenny, his eyes pleading. _He would know._

Kenny returned the look. _I’ve tried._

Damien looked at the two, eyes locked and standing too close together. He had to bite his tongue to force down the thoughts, words, and emotions that sparked at the sight. They were being friendly with one another and no more. But, what of the searing passion that seemed to spark in their gaze? The ease and seeming want for them to be together. Damien had only met that Craig character, and had only seen him once with Kenny, but he sensed something was going on between them, a truth held between them, hidden within the roses.

“Well, I only came here looking for Christophe. There was some—er— _trouble_ with one of the cells and I need to find a way to get it fixed. Seems like he’s not here, so I’ll be off. Be well, princess.”

“Oh, I heard him mention something about assisting Lord Donovan before his trip.”

Craig glanced at Kenny, his mind already conjuring dozens of thoughts and implications.

“All right. Then I’ll have to wait until that’s done. Until next time, princess.” As he turned to leave, he shot a glare at Craig.

Craig nearly flinched.

Once Damien was gone, Kenny sighed. “Sorry about that. Papa Damien can get… possessive when it comes to certain things.”

“You called him ‘papa,’ you’ve called Christophe ‘papa.’ Is that some royal thing that I don’t know?”

“What?” Kenny beamed and giggled. “Oh, no. They raised me, both Christophe and Damien. Don’t tell anyone—or tell them that I told you—but they’re lovers.”

“Oh.”

“Is that strange or hard to believe?” Kenny’s throat felt tight.

Craig shook his head. “No, not at all." A pause. "Actually, yes. A noble and an executioner? And they act so differently.”

Kenny giggled. “Exactly. They’re so different and of completely different classes, but somehow they’ve made it work for decades.” Perhaps they would not be the only ones that overcame social ranking.

Craig jolted. “Right, the executioner! Would he—”

“I tried to ask him but learned nothing. He was the first person I went to. I’m sorry, but he didn’t know anything either, and practically threatened me to not ask again.”

Craig’s shoulders dropped.

“But I’m sure we’ll find something. We just have to keep looking.”

“Or at least start looking.” Craig faced the sky. “I’ve been here for a long time and we haven’t gotten any closer.”

Kenny hummed. “It’s difficult when you’re only here a few hours a day, and sometimes not every day.”

“I don’t like being in places where I’m not wanted or don’t belong.”

“Who said that about you and the gardens?”

The two of them locked eyes once more, the flowers dancing in a light breeze.

“The gardens don’t cover the entire castle, princess.”

“No, no they don’t.”

They stood facing one another, gradually leaning in until they were close enough to hold a book between them.

Craig bit his lip, looked away, then took a step back.

Kenny’s shoulders dropped and gaze lowered.

_A princess and a thief._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super dialogue-heavy chapter that's pretty long, wow, but here's to their relationship development!   
> Also, new South Park episode today. Yay! I've seen/read spoilers and hahaha my little Style heart :')
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and take care uwu


End file.
